


Reflect Light

by rymyanna



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Constipation, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-27 03:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16694422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rymyanna/pseuds/rymyanna
Summary: While investigating a gruesome murder, Connor and Hank toe the line between friends and “more”, and find out that werewolves are a thing that exists. (spoilers: Hank becomes a werewolf)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to by latest fic. I'm not very familiar with how police work actually works so I'm basing it off what we see in the game. If it's wrong, I'm sorry, but I hope you can look past it and still enjoy the romance and werewolf-ism. Say things at me in the comments if you feel like it.

The crime scene is close to the dog park they’d taken Sumo to the week before. It’s a homicide, one human and one android. The preliminary data suggests that the android could be reactivated after some repairs. Connor looks at her and sees that it’s possible. They could just catch their culprit like that, if her memories are intact. 

The house the bodies are in is a mess. Furniture lies broken on the floor, the television is shattered in the living room. Definite signs of a struggle.

Hank is talking to the officer who found the scene. Connor listens while going over to the human victim, Michael Adams, thirty-one, a software designer. He’s a bloody mess and the best way for them to make sure he is who they think he is, is to have Connor analyze his blood. Hank very carefully doesn’t look his way when he does. They’ve developed a good work relationship, and a personal one, too. Connor doesn’t live with Hank but it’s a close thing; he’s there most nights, pouring over case files or just “hanging out”. 

Hank, having finished his conversation, comes over. “So, what do you make of it?” He must have some ideas of his own, but he trusts Connor’s judgment, and asks first. It’s nice.

“It doesn’t look like it was done with any conventional weapon,” Connor starts, glancing at Hank who hums in agreement. “It’s almost like an animal attack.” His reconstruction shows something big, already in the house before the attack, going for Mr Adams when the android, self-designation Sue, tries to intervene but is knocked aside. The large thing gets Mr Adams, throws him around, and lays into him once he’s on the floor.

“It’d have to be something big, though, like a bear,” Hank says. “And that seems unlikely, out here so near the city.” 

There hasn’t been a reported bear sighting, let alone a bear attack, near the area in decades. 

“You said almost,” Hank continues. “Why is it  _ almos _ t like an animal attack?”

“Like you said, Lieutenant, it’d have to be something big, based on the crime scene,” Connor begins. “However, there’s no evidence suggesting that something of that size had broken in or otherwise entered, or exited, the house.” It’d have had to squeeze through the door and left fur or some other sign that it had done so, yet there was nothing. “And no sign that they were keeping a pet that size in the house.”

“So, what? You think someone faked an animal attack?” Hank asks, raising both brows.

“I agree that it is a strange thing to suggest,” Connor says, taking stock of the scene again, to make sure he hasn’t overlooked anything. He hasn’t, of course. “But until we get a look at the android’s memories, I have nothing more plausible.”

“Well, shit,” Hank curses, incredulous. “Gotta admit, this is the first for me. What’ll they think of next, huh?”

Connor recognizes that it was a rhetorical question and doesn’t answer. He’s mostly occupied with the case for the next several minutes, until it’s time to leave the crime scene and he becomes occupied with Hank. They are having a pizza night. It means that Hank will get to eat pizza without Connor saying anything about the caloric intake or fat content, and they watch movies until Hank falls sleep. Connor doesn’t like Hank eating unhealthy foods, but he does like pizza night for its other qualities. 

* * *

Hank has some DVDs from the early two thousands they have been going through. A lot of it is bad and Hank’s old DVD player barely works, but the house is more homey than Connor’s apartment and Sumo is there. He promised Hank not to look up a plot synopsis, and he has kept to that. It doesn’t make some of the things that happen much less predictable. 

The pizza arrives. There’s mushrooms and onions on it and not just meat and cheese, which makes not saying anything about the unhealthiness much easier. Connor suspects Hank ordered the toppings with that in mind but doesn’t say anything about that, either. It’s hard for him to concentrate on the movie when the new case weights on his mind. They have a no “shop talk” rule on pizza night so he doesn’t bring it up, but Hank notices anyway because he’s smart and perceptive.

“Hey,” Hank nudges him with his elbow. They sit close enough that he doesn’t need to strain to accomplish it. “There’s been like a million plot holes and you haven’t said anything. What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, Hank.” Connor gives up any pretense of watching the movie and turns to Hank. “We’re not supposed to talk about work.” 

“We’re also not supposed to  _ think _ about work,” Hank adds, pausing the movie. “And I know you can watch the movie and do your little calculations at the same time, so something must really be bothering you.”

“It’s just,” Connor starts. His coin is in his jacket pocket and the jacket is by the door. “It’s weird, the whole scene, something doesn’t add up. The neighbors didn’t see anything unusual, and I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of equipment one would need to fake an animal attack like that, and…” He trails off. Hank doesn’t say anything, just waits him out. “The coroner agrees that the marks on the body are claw and teeth marks, from something big, like a huge wolf or an enormous dog.” He looks at Hank, who also looks back, frowning. “My reconstructions get stuck on some kind of a large animal appearing in the living room and then disappearing once it’s attacked.” Admitting that his top of the line, built for police work, software is failing him is hard. He knows Hank won’t hold it against him, but Connor is doing that enough for the both of them. 

“Look,” Hank says, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. It makes Connor feel a bit better even before Hank can say anything comforting. “It’ll take a couple of days for the android to get fixed enough for us to talk to her, and in the meanwhile, it’s pointless to torture ourselves with,” he gestures at Connor’s head. “Theorizing when we don’t have enough to go on.”

“That’s only if her memories are intact,” Connor points out. It’s a moderately sized ‘if’. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Hank’s platitudes don’t help much, but the pat on his shoulder does. They have a good track record of figuring things out. “But right now, no talking about work, no thinking about work.” He got up after another pat, supporting himself on Connor’s shoulder to rise. “I need a beer. Do you want one of your blood drink things?”

“No, thank you.” He has told Hank repeatedly that there was no point in them both having thirium on hand, as he didn’t need it often, but Hank kept it stocked anyway. It makes Connor feel some kind of way. Cared for? Possibly, he’ll have to analyze it later. 

Hank leaves and gets back with his beer. He has gotten better about drinking, spending less time drinking as a means to numb himself, and more to be what he called being “a social drinker”. Which basically meant that he had a beer or two when Connor was over, and Connor was over almost every night. It wasn’t where Connor wanted him to be but it was progress. 

Eventually, Hank’s eyelids start to flag. Sumo is snoring in the corner and the movie is winding down. It’s the best part of the night, when he’ll get to help Hank into bed. Sometimes Hank will say something that he forgets before morning, but Connor doesn’t. Connor knows that Hank trusts him, the man letting his guard down around him is just further evidence to support that. That trust is precious to him, and he tries every day to be worthy of it.

“Hank,” he speaks softly. “You should go to bed.”

“Hmm?” Hank says, slumping more against the backrest, his head falling to the side where Connor sits. “‘m good ‘ere.” Aided by gravity and Hank’s relaxed state, his head lands on Connor, on his shoulder so the top of it is tucked near his neck. 

This isn’t the first time Hank has fallen asleep on him. It started about a month into their pizza/movie nights and he still doesn’t know what to do about it. Hank can’t be comfortable resting against his hard shoulder, but he is asleep, judging from his heart rate and respiration, and Connor doesn’t want to wake him. So he sits there, still and quiet. It is pretty normal for Hank to wake up during the night and wander off to bed by himself. He’ll just have to wait.

It takes longer than usual for Hank to stir. Connor has time to think about the case and the thirium Hank keeps and the situation he is in. He doesn’t mind being a headrest, Hank is heavy and warm against his side. 

When it happens, Hank snorts himself awake, disoriented. “What?” he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing at his eye. He looks over at Connor, who is studying him from the corner of his eye. His body temperature is elevated, but not worryingly so. “Uuh, sorry, about that,” he says, though there’s nothing to apologize for.

“It’s alright. You’ll be more comfortable in bed,” Connor says and gets up to make sure Hank lies down under the covers. After, he clears away the pizza box and the beer can. The last time he left this late, Hank got upset, claiming that it wasn’t safe for Connor to go out alone at night, so now he settles back on the couch, as per Hank’s standing invitation to stay over anytime. 

* * *

A couple days later, they got word that Sue, the android attacked supposedly by an animal, is functional again. They drive to the mechanic responsible for fixing her. The shop is near a hospital, an arrangement made after the revolution so that a CyberLife store wasn’t the only option for receiving maintenance. 

When they arrive, Sue is sitting on a stool in the shop, talking to the mechanic, who is also an android. She looks up and stands. “Hello. You must be Connor and Lieutenant Anderson.”

It is only outdated policy that keeps Connor from being Detective Connor, but he’s not about to correct her. She is technically right. “Yes, we were hoping we could ask you a few questions regarding what happened.” He gestures her to sit back down and she does. 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much, my memory is partially corrupted,” she says, apologetic. “I don’t know who attacked us.”

“But it was a who and not a what,” Hank pipes in. He stands back, letting Connor do most of the talking. Some androids are uncomfortable around humans, though perhaps not this one since she was living with Mr Adams, a human. 

“Excuse me?” Sue says, frowning and looking to Connor for an explanation.

“One of our theories is that some kind of a large animal attacked you and Mr Adams,” Connor explains. “We were hoping you could either confirm or deny it.” 

“I don’t remember a large animal,” Sue admits. “You can look for yourself if you want.” She offers her hand. It is the outcome Connor wanted, to see for himself this supposed beast that came out of nowhere, but it is bad form to ask. 

“This might be traumatizing for you,” he warns before taking her hand. The image is staticy, she’s reading from a screen when the doorbell rings. She doesn’t get up, Mr Adams answers the door. There are a few quiet moments of her looking at the screen before there’s shouting from the living room. It is an argument but the words are hard to make out. Sue gets up and goes to see what’s going on. When she gets to the living room, it’s a mess, Mr Adams is on the floor. She runs at a large form and gets slammed away. Black. Connor lets go. 

Sue lowers her hand and looks down. “He’s definitely dead, then?” Her voice is small. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Connor says, processing the scene.

“Can I ask, what was the relationship between you and Mr Adams?” Hank asks. 

Sue looks up, at Hank like a dare. “He was my boyfriend.” The look and the infliction makes sense; android-human relationships are a controversial topic.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hank says and sounds like he means it. 

Sue smiles a little. “Thank you. You know, I thought that once the legislators got their shit together, I might become Sue Adams.” Connor suspects that the only reason she doesn’t start crying is that she doesn’t have the capability. He looks to Hank and gets sympathetic eyes but no help in navigating the situation. He gives her a minute before continuing.

“Do you know the person who came to visit you that day?” he asks.

She takes a breath she doesn’t need. “I think it was Michael’s friend from work, Greg Linden?”

“Is there any reason you can think of for Mr Linden wanting your boyfriend dead?”

“No, no, I thought they got along. We invited him for dinner once, I was under the impression that they were friends.”

“But they were arguing about something. Do you know what that could have been?”

“Work, maybe?” Sue guesses. “A deadline was coming up for a project they were working on together, Michael had been stressing out about it for weeks.” 

“And he was the only one in the house, aside from you and Mr Adams.” 

“That I remember, yes,” Sue says, predictably. “Do you think Greg did it?”

“It’s difficult to determine at this time,” Connor replies. He doesn’t see how it could be anyone else but the evidence doesn’t match up. “Would you describe Mr Linden as a big man?” 

“Not really. He’s pretty skinny, five foot seven. I think that if he did attack Michael, he could fight him off.” 

The evidence definitely doesn’t match up. “Is there anyone else you can think of that could’ve wanted to harm Mr Adams?” He has to ask, even though a second person or a secret accomplice wouldn’t explain the discrepancies. 

Sue processes. “No one I can think of, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He puts on a professional smile. “Contact me if you remember anything else.”

“Thank you for your time,” Hank says from behind him. Connor turns and follows him out. It’s sunny outside, a month into the summer season. He likes that it has put the people around him in a better mood, he’s even seen Detective Reed smile a few times, but otherwise the temperature change isn’t enough to affect him. 

“So, you wanna go talk to this Greg Linden guy?” Hank asks and unlocks the car to climb inside. “It didn’t particularly sound like he had a motive, or the strength, to do it. Might know something, though.”

“You’re right,” Connor says, getting into the car. “We should talk to him.” He has already pulled up his contact information and types it into Hank’s GPS. “The memory,” he starts. “There was a big figure in the living room that attacked them, but it was too corrupted to make out what it was.” 

“A huge animal in the house at exactly the same time this guy was there, that comes out of nowhere and then disappears,” Hank musses. He turns to Connor with dry smile. “Maybe we’re dealing with a werewolf.”

“‘The suspect’s a werewolf’, I’ll add it to the file,” Connor smiles back a little. “I’m sure the captain will love that.” 

“Shit, he’ll fire us both. How do you feel about wasting away in front of the TV, drinking beer in our underwear for the rest of our days?”

He knows Hank is joking, but it touches something within him that he’s included in Hank’s hypothetical future plans. “I’ll purchase the underwear just in case.” 

Hank looks like he’s about to say something, then stops and just stares at Connor. Connor goes over the conversation for anything he might have said wrong but doesn’t find a thing. Did he take the joke too far? He is still bad at telling where the line between appropriate amount of joking and too much goes.

“Uuuh, anyway, let’s go see our man.” Hank starts the car and leaves their parking spot in front of the mechanic’s. It’s the wrong way, the GPS tells him to make a U-turn. Hank is normally good at finding his way even without technology and the moment stands out to Connor, still wondering if it’s his fault. The thing is, Hank tells him when he messes up, this time he didn’t say anything, which leads Connor to believe that either he messed up so badly that Hank can’t find the words to let him know, or that the momentary lapse wasn’t about him. He knows which option he prefers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter, a lot of stuff goes down. Hope you're ready.

Greg Linden, potential werewolf, isn’t at his house. He doesn’t answer his phone when Connor calls him. According to the coworker they contact, he hasn’t been to work for five days. It’s suspicious and exactly the kind of thing a guilty person would do.

They round the house to go to the backyard, It opens up to a patch of woods. The bushes where the yard ends and the forest begins are disturbed, the branches snapped like something big had ran through them in a hurry. Connor scans the branches, finding a couple hairs stuck on one.

Hank comes up to him, peering at what he is holding. “I was kidding about the werewolf thing,” he says, perhaps to the universe. “Maybe he has a big dog?”

His visual scan of the hair comes up short. “It’s better if you look away,” Connor says, as a warning before he puts the hair in his mouth. He holds it on his tongue for a moment before taking it out.

“Well?” Hank prompts when Connor doesn’t say anything.

“It’s, it’s inconclusive,” Connor admits, after a while. It’s not a result he gets, there’s no “inconclusive” with his analysis capabilities. He has one job. “The closest match is a wolf.”  He expects another werewolf comment, but what he gets is Hank turning his face to look at him, hand large and warm against the side of his head. Connor meets his eyes.

“Hey,” Hank says and it’s all he says for a while. It’s possible that he didn’t think this through.

“I’m fine. We should take these to the lab and get a second opinion.” Connor is careful to keep his face neutral. It doesn’t take much effort, but it also doesn’t convince Hank.

“Yeah, sure, as soon as you stop freaking out.”

“I’m not-”

Hank taps him on the LED. “Then what’s this, huh? Your night light’s going crazy.”

Right. He’d forgotten. “I’ll do better.”

“What, at not beating yourself up about not being perfect all the time?” Hank huffs, pushes Connor’s head a bit. “This seems like a case where we’ll be banging our heads on a wall for a while, but I refuse to let you start without me.”

Connor’s LED is in Hank’s view right now, but it wasn’t before he turned Connor’s head. He doesn’t know how to react to Hank just knowing that there’s something wrong. He knows they’re friends, and that they’re closer with each other than with other people, and he supposes that translates to them being able to read the other on a level other people can’t. Though, Connor has software for that, Hank doesn’t; he just pays attention. Because he cares.

“Feeling better?” Hank asks. Connor, a bit awkwardly, pats the hand on the side of his head.

“Yes.” At least their partnership means that if Connor fails, Hank will be there to pick up the slack.

“Good.” Hank lowers his hand after a second of looking like he forgot that he should. He uses the hand to scratch at his beard. Connor bags the hair, turning to go to the patch of woods. “Hang on,” Hank stops him. “What if there’s actual wolves in there?”

“Wildlife generally avoids people, so as long as we make noise, we should be fine.”

“And if Werewolf Greg is in there, hiding from the cops, he’ll know to get out,” Hank points out.

“It’s not that big of an area, he’s probably heard us and left.” Connor just wants to go in, find all the possible clues as to where Mr Linden went, and go get lunch. He doesn’t eat, but Hank does, and he knows Hank usually skips breakfast.

“Alright, just, let me go first.”

Connor steps aside and sticks by Hank. He isn’t scared, it turns out that there’s nothing besides more broken branches and some more hair, also inconclusive, but there’s some part of Hank that registers Connor as someone to keep safe and allowing him this is such a small thing. They leave to drop off the hair and find a place to eat. Hank wants a burger, Connor wants Hank to live past sixty. He wins; Hank gets a sandwich and a salad.

* * *

 

They look into Werewolf Greg’s workplace. It turns up nothing. No one’s seen him, they hadn’t noticed anything weird between him and Mr Adams, the project they were working on was assigned to someone else. Before they can even get properly frustrated, a new body is found.

It’s not as gruesome as the last. The body has been mauled but less so, and this time there’s hair clutched in the victims hand, the same kind Connor found in the woods. The body is in the bushes behind a motel and there’s no connection between Mr Linden and the victim that Connor can find, aside from them having stayed at the same motel. An active search for Mr Linden gets started and they get cleared to search his house. It’s not a lot to go on but it’s their only lead.

The house, as predicted, is empty of people and werewolves. A couple officers go around the neighborhood to ask about the resident. There’s no sign that Mr Linden owns a dog or that he has been there in the past week and a half. There is a basement, though.

“Come give me a hand with this,” Hank calls, standing by a door. A quick scan reveals that it’s reinforced and lockable with three different locks, though only one of them is active. It’s electronic, which allows Connor to open it. They look inside, Hank spots a light switch on the wall. The stairs lead down, below the ground level. Hank goes first, as is his want, and Connor follows closely. There’s a second light switch at the bottom, but Connor sees into the room before it’s switched on.

“Huh,” Hank says and it pretty much sums it up for Connor, too.

Chains hang on the far wall, attached to both hand and ankle cuffs. The room is bare otherwise but there are some scratches on the walls and the floor. A couple pipes with grates over them look like they lead to the surface, for ventilation.

“Now the question is, is this a kinky sex dungeon or a dungeon dungeon?” Hank asks, approaching the chains.

“Well, I don’t detect any semen or other associated fluids, so I’d say it’s a dungeon dungeon,” Connor comments, going over to examine the cuffs. They are heavy duty, built to hold even a stronger person to the wall.

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better about this.” Hank doesn’t touch the chains, because he’d leave fingerprints, but he does take a closer look. “At least we didn’t find anybody shackled up down here.”

“True, and while it’s not illegal to have a setup like this, I’d still say it’s suspicious.” What it says about Mr Linden, Connor isn’t sure. Who are the cuffs for? Their search hasn’t answered a lot of questions, but it has raised more.

“Yeah, definitely,” Hank agrees. “And what are these marks?” He points to the scratches, kneeling down to have a look. “It’s like someone clawed at the floor.” He gets up, turns to Connor. “If he was keeping someone here, where are they now? Are we looking for another body?”

Connor knows that the questions are meant for him as much as they’re Hank thinking out loud. “If we are, they weren’t killed here.” It is a cold comfort, but if someone was kept in the basement, they don’t have any evidence that the person is dead.

Hank sighs, frowning and doing his own version of processing. “Let’s see if the door-to-door turned anything up, there’s not much else we can do here.”

They leave the house and talk to the officers. It seems like the general consensus among the neighbors is that Mr Linden is the quiet sort, doesn’t go out of his way to socialize, doesn’t have pets or a lot of visitors. No one has mentioned anything about him bringing over someone against their will, or doing anything suspicious. The person living directly next to him said that Greg liked to go into the small forest for hours and has mentioned that he goes hiking regularly.

Connor can tell from Hank’s stance and the way he frowns that he is getting frustrated. Connor feels it, too. Thanks to the motel manager, they know what kind of car Mr Linden drives, and there’s hope that someone spots him, but it grates on him that he can’t do much at this point. He imagines that Hank feels the same.

* * *

 

Once the search proper starts, it isn’t long until a sighting of Werewolf Greg gets called in. He’s spotted at a gas station one night, buying some food and gas. The closest patrol car gets there before he can leave and in his panic, he runs off on foot. Connor is about ready to carry Hank there if it means that they can at least be present when he’s caught. He doesn’t need to go that far, they drive like normal, sane people. The gas station is near the edge of the city, perhaps Mr Linden’s last stop before he left.

Together with the patrollers, they narrow down where he could have run to, and split into two teams to better cut him off. Hank and Connor get to him first. The narrow pathway between two buildings turns out to be a dead end, and he has no choice but to turn and face them. He looks stressed and like he’s been rapidly losing weight. He raises his hands like he’s trying to calm them down.

“Please, don’t come any closer,” he says, backing up until his back touches the wall. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” He appears unarmed.

“No one needs to get hurt, but you have to come with us,” Connor says, soothing and non-threatening. Mr Linden looks more unstable by the second, his eyes darting around even while he stays still.

“I didn’t mean to, but it’s so hard to control,” he pleads. “When I’m stressed or in danger.”

Hank meets Connor’s eyes briefly and neither of them understands.

“Just let me go and I’ll go somewhere with less people,” Mr Linden says and doubles in over himself with a shout. “Go!” he yells. What starts as tremors become convulsions. Hank lowers his gun a little. It turns out to be a mistake.

Mr Linden’s clothes rip, his bones crunch as they reform, his skin stretches and pushes out hair. At first, they are too stunned to react, and then, Werewolf Greg is on them.

He goes after Hank, who’s gathered himself enough to raise his gun again. It gets swiped from his hand, claws tearing flesh. Hank yells in surprise and pain, Connor shoots. In close range, it should do something besides annoy, but it doesn’t. It gets the beast off Hank and Connor gets pushed to the wall as the enormous wolf races past them and into the night.

Hank is holding his arm close, blood dripping on the pavement. The blow that knocked Connor away keeps him from his partner for a moment while his systems run checks to make sure he’s still functional. He is, just a couple bumps and scratches on his chassis. It’s more of a mental strain, trying to process what they just saw.

Werewolf Greg is a more apt nickname than they thought.

“Hank, are you alright?” Connor asks, goes to him. The wounds are deep but not life threatening as long as Hank gets them cleaned up and stitched.

“Yeah, I’m-I’m not dying,” Hank says, voice strained. He looks at Connor, eyes wide. “Tell me that you also just saw that guy turn into a big wolf,” he speaks, the words coming out fast and a bit muddled.

“I did, I saw that.” As crazy as it is, Connor can’t deny what he just saw and how it fits the evidence, the places where it didn’t make sense clearing up. It seems like his reconstructive software was more accurate than he thought, making a large form that came out of nowhere.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank swore, falling back to lean on the wall. Connor contacts the rest of the team to give them their location. “What the hell.”

“What are we going to tell everyone?” Connor asks. Nothing in his programming or life experience so far has prepared him for this situation. It bleeds into his voice, the uncertainty.

Hank stops muttering curses to think before giving his reply. “We tell Fowler the truth and make up something for anyone else who asks.”

“It’s-it’s probably for the best if we don’t spread it around,” Connor agrees. He has no problem with lying, and if the captain knows, he can caution the people going after Mr Linden the way he sees fit. “I can show Captain Fowler what happened if he doesn’t believe us.” He’s grateful that he doesn’t need to make the decision himself, that Hank is there to make the call. In times like this, he trusts Hank more than he trusts himself.

When the officers find them, they bullshit their way through an explanation and Connor ends up driving Hank to the hospital. He gets stitched up while Connor paces in the hallway. The existence of minimum one werewolf doesn’t fit into his view of the world. What does it mean for all the other myths? Are there ghosts and vampires and chupacabras, too? Is it something he needs to start taking into account when he’s investigating murders, that the victim might have been killed by a unicorn?

He emails Captain Fowler while he waits and paces. He attaches the file with the encounter. It’ll be more simple to not be there when the captain has his initial existential crisis, and Hank needs to get home and rest.

Speaking of, Hank comes out of the room, looking as grumpy as ever and ready to leave. He doesn’t like hospitals, but they couldn’t have left a wound like that unattended. Connor sticks by him as they walk out, keeping a careful eye on his partner. Hank notices.

“I’m fine, you can stop hovering,” he says but doesn’t seem angry about it.

“I just want to make sure,” Connor explains, following Hank to the car. “Tonight’s been…” he’s not sure. “Eventful.” Mr Linden had killed two people who were around him at the wrong time. Hank could have been the next victim.

Hank snorts. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Connor drives Hank home. Once there, the man turns to him. “You can take the car if you want to go home, just pick me up in the morning.”

“Actually, I’d feel better if I stayed here.” Statistically, Hank is fairly safe in his home. It’s a good neighborhood and he has a gun and a big dog, but he would be even more safe if Connor was also there. The way Hank doesn’t voice even a token protest, tells that he’s more shaken by the events than he lets on.

Sumo is excited to see them. Connor takes him out on a walk while Hank changes and gets situated on the couch. They don’t stay out for long, Connor just wants to return to the house no matter how much he enjoys time with the dog. When he gets back, he feeds Sumo and finds Hank.

Hank has a beer.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Connor says, moving in on the couch.

“Yeah, well, my arm hurts like a bitch. Whatever they gave me for it doesn’t do shit.” Hank takes a swing and Connor ceases the opportunity to snatch the can away. It spills on Hank a little and he curses.

“Then you really shouldn’t be drinking.” Connor goes to put the can back in the fridge.

“It’s gonna be all stale now,” Hank complains.

The can gives under Connor’s grip before he lets go and shuts the fridge door. “What a horrible thing to happen to you.” He can’t keep his feelings in check and it comes out sarcastic and biting. Hank could’ve died, and here he is, trying to mix painkillers with alcohol and complaining that the beer won’t be perfect. Connor feels Hank’s stare from the living room and goes over to fuss over Sumo, whose water bowl is half empty. He washes it and fills it, puts it back on the floor. Sumo whines at him, sensing that something is wrong, there’s a tension in the air. Connor pets him, for both their comfort but also to avoid facing Hank just yet.

Hank foils his plans by coming into the kitchen. “Connor,” he says, softly. He stands there in his nightwear and Connor is wearing a suit, like he does, but without the android insignia, feeling an imbalance. Maybe he should purchase a set of pajamas to keep at Hank’s house, so future awkwardness can be avoided.

“I’m fine, see? It’s just a scratch.” Hank holds his arm up as though to show Connor how fine he is. It’s bandaged with white gauze.

Connor looks up at his face, leaves Sumo for now. “Mr Linden has killed twice under stress. There’s a real chance that you could’ve ended up like the other two.”

“But I didn’t,” Hank argues. “I know the probability of getting hurt way worse was high, but it always is, it’s part of the job.”

“Usually when I shoot someone, they go down. The wolf flinched and ran off like nothing happened,” Connor points out. Under normal circumstances, he’s able to defend Hank if he needs to, tonight he couldn’t have done anything. “I don’t want to lose you, you’re my best friend.”

Hank looks embarrassed at the admission, glancing to the side before meeting Connor’s eyes again. “You’re my best friend too, buddy. And I’m not going anywhere.” He spreads his arms. “Wanna hug it out?”

Connor really does. They touched each other in companionship often enough, but hugs were rare. He steps into Hank’s space and gets engulfed in his arms. Not that Connor has anyone else to compare to, but he thinks that Hank must be particularly good at hugging, being as big and warm as he is. It gives him the opportunity to confirm that Hank’s heart is still beating and that he’s very much alive.

They stay like that for a while, and at the end of it, Hank pats his back before letting go. Neither of them backs up, and Connor registers that it’s not a friendly distance, but he doesn’t care. It’s still nice, even though he can’t pinpoint where he wants it to go. Hank’s eyes flick to his mouth and back to his eyes  Connor is built to notice things, so he does, but from the way Hank clears his throat and steps back, he wasn’t meant to.

“Uh, I think I need to go to bed,” Hank mutters, pointing at the bedroom uselessly.

“You’re right, it’s late,” Connor agrees.

“Yup, big day today and tomorrow’s probably filled with paperwork that I should be at least sort of awake for,” Hank goes on, taking more steps back towards the bedroom. It’s odd, but Hank has had a big day, like he said, and is tired from all the excitement, so Connor doesn’t stop to mull on it.

* * *

 

In the morning, Connor goes to wake Hank up. He has made coffee and it’d be a shame if Hank didn’t have enough time to drink it. When he enters the bedroom after a quick knock, he hears a groan from the bed. Hank has buried himself into the covers.

“Hank?” Connor calls from the doorway, inching into the room. “Are you alright? It’s time to get up.” He gets close enough to pull down the covers and does so, enough to see Hank’s face. He looks pained and even without touching him, Connor can sense his body radiating heat. He lays a hand on his forehead and sure enough, Hank is burning up. “I think you need a doctor.”

“No,” Hank manages. “I’ll just sleep it off, it’s cool.”

It is not cool. “I don’t think-,” Connor starts.

“Listen, my arm hurts, my everything hurts, I feel like feeling like shit’d be an improvement,” Hank interrupts, takes Connor arm. “I’m not moving, you can’t make me, enough hospitals and doctors, go to work, leave me to suffer in peace.”

It’s impressive that Hank is so articulate in his current state. Connor frowns but doesn’t argue. He could pick up Hank and carry him to see a doctor, no doubt making Hank angry and uncooperative. It’s an option, and he’ll take it if Hank is still as bad when he comes back that evening.

“Okay, you win this time.” It looks like Hank has fallen back to sleep and Connor leaves him be. He lets Sumo out before going, taking the car. Hank won’t need it.

Captain Fowler is waiting for them by their desks. “Where’s Hank?” he asks when Connor’s close enough.

“He has a fever and can’t come in today.” Usually, Connor would have notified his boss beforehand, but he must be out of sorts and didn’t. He sets a reminder to run a full system check.

Fowler scowls, a mix of frustration and worry. “I wanted to to talk to you about what happened with the suspect, but I think it’ll be better if it’s both of you,” he says, making to leave. “The moment he gets better, I want you in my office.”

“Understood,” Connor says. At least Fowler doesn’t seem too rattled or like he’s any more angry at them than he normally is.

He does desk work for the rest of the day. Reed stops by to bother him in the afternoon.

“Hey, where’s Anderson?” Reed asks, knocking on Connor’s desk. “Hungover at home?” He’s not nice to Connor, or to anyone really, but with things developing the way they are, he can’t be as vocal about his hatred of androids, it’d show the precinct in a bad light. Connor is fairly sure that Captain Fowler has specifically come down on him about suitable office conduct. So, they’re not friends, but they’re also not at each other’s throats and he guesses that’s something.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s ill,” Connor replies. He doesn’t appreciate the hungover comment, especially since Hank has gotten so much better about his drinking.

“Testy,” Reed comments. “It’s like you’re not happy to see me.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Detective.” Connor smiles and establishes eye contact. He continues both until Reed leaves. Reed does, muttering something that Connor could make out if he was at all interested.

The day goes on. Connor keeps looking over at the clock even though he doesn’t need to. He knows what time it is at all times. Finally, the day comes to an end and he can go back to Hank. He hops into the car, gets back to the house at record speed, and sees to Sumo quickly before going into the bedroom.

The lights are off. The bedcovers are still on Hank, but the mound is moving. Connor makes out some muffled noises, like Hank’s in pain. He opens the door more, illuminating the scene with the light from the hallway. The covers move and fall off Hank’s upper body.

“Hank?” Connor tries and gets a growl for his efforts. He makes out sharp, elongated canines as Hank turns his head to look at him. The hallway light paints his pupils green and white. Connor freezes.

Human eyes don’t reflect light.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More stuff to read.   
> Comments make me feel appreciated.

Torn between going in to check that Hank is alright and backing up, Connor stands in the hallway. 

In the room, Hank keeps his inhuman eyes on him and approaches. He keeps making sound, like a canine on guard, revealing his teeth. They’re sharper than they should be, more dangerous looking, more like Sumo’s teeth than a human’s. Connor backs into the wall, frantically searching for some protocol or a memory that’d tell him what to do. He finds nothing, Hank is in the hallway with him. Under normal circumstances, Connor wouldn’t be afraid; it’s Hank, he trusts Hank. But these aren’t normal circumstances. 

Hank stops in front of him. It’s like he’s smelling the air, and Connor has a chance to wonder about that for a second before Hank buries his face on his shoulder and neck. Connor stops breathing and goes even more still, if that’s possible, but Hank’s not growling anymore. He’s just sniffing around, his feet shuffle on the floor and he rubs his cheek on Connor’s. It’s different from being hugged, Hank’s face is a lot closer to his for one, but it feels affectionate and harmless. 

“Hey, Hank?” Connor says, patting him on the shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He doesn’t feel as warm as he had that morning, which is a good sign.

“Connor,” Hank sighs. “You’re home.”

“Yes, I am,” Connor agrees, at a loss. “I think your fever has gone down, that’s good.” Something else is wrong, Connor has an idea of what it could be, but he dismisses it. There is no way. “Hank?”

Hank lifts his head to look at Connor. “Yeah?”

They stare at each other for a moment before Hank jumps back so that his back hits the opposite wall. His eyes are wide. “Oh shit,” he says and covers his face with his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s ok.” Connor peels himself off the wall, straightening his tie. Hank isn’t looking at him but that’s fine. “Can you tell me what just happened?”

“Uh, well, I don’t really know,” Hank says, still hiding. “But I guess I didn’t immediately realize that it was you, for some reason, and I felt kind of protective, ‘cause it’s my house? And then I,” he pauses, and Connor can tell that he’s turning red. “Um, so, I basically recognized that it’s you and got really happy?” He groans, rubbing at his face and finally emerging. “I still feel weird, but more myself if that makes sense.”

Connor nods, more as a sign that he’s listening than to say that it makes sense. “Show me your teeth, please,” he says.

“My teeth?” Hank looks puzzled but does as asked. They’re blunt and human. It’s not real proof, but Connor’s mind pings him with the same conclusion from before and he pushes it away again.

Sumo comes over to check what the fuss is about. He approaches more cautiously than usual, but in the end it’s just Hank, and he asks for pets, which he gets from both of them because he’s a good boy.

“I’m gonna order something to eat,” Hank declares, going to the kitchen to find his phone on the table. Connor follows.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He doesn’t approve, but he’s not going to push too hard for a healthier option. Not tonight.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hank replies. “I’m starving, I’m not going to make myself a goddamn salad. Let me live.” He sounds angry. It’s more probable that he is embarrassed from earlier than that he’s actually angry with Connor. He calls a Chinese place that delivers well into the night and gets far more food than he needs to meet his daily caloric intake. Connor “lets him live” and doesn’t comment on it. The eating might be comfort-seeking behavior and right now, food is a better alternative to alcohol. 

Hank sits at the table, Connor remains standing. Neither of them say anything for five minutes before Hank breaks the silence. “So, tell me about the teeth.”

Connor doesn’t want to, but it’s not fair to keep it from Hank, seeing how he is the most affected. “Earlier, you showed some qualities and behavior I’d more associate with Sumo,” he says. “And I just thought, you were scratched by a werewolf.” He doesn’t need to elaborate for Hank to understand what he means.

“Fuck no.”

“That’s roughly what I thought, too,” Connor says. He sits at the table, knowing that Hank doesn’t like him standing around when he’s about to eat. “But the fact of the matter is, we don’t know if that’s how it works or not.” He sounds calm despite being worried enough to feel like there is something wrong with his insides. Now that he’s been forced to voice his concerns, he can’t unthink them. 

Hank doesn’t say anything, but then, what is there to say? “Yeah, you’re right, I might be a werewolf now”? They sit there long enough for the food to arrive. Connor goes to get it and brings it to the kitchen. He knows that there is a pair of chopsticks in the container, but he fetches Hank a fork.

“Thanks,” Hank speaks at last, picking at his food.

“You said you’re starving,” Connor tries to coax him. He might not like the choice of food, not eating is still worse. 

“I am, it’s just, you know.” Hank eats a forkful.

“No matter what happens, I’m going to help you through it.” He reaches over to pat Hanks arm. It’s a little stilted as he’s still getting the hang of showing physical affection. Despite that, it gets Hank to look at him with one corner of his mouth quirking up. 

“You’re a better friend than I deserve.”

“You know me, always striving for perfection,” Connor attempts to joke because it’s easier than getting into Hank’s self-esteem issues. “Though, I think I overshot a little, if that’s the case.” Hank huffs and shakes his head. The room feels a little lighter, Hank’s shoulders less tense. Connor marks that venture into humor as a success. 

The rest of the food gets consumed, most by Hank and some by Sumo. It’s not good for the dog, either, but Hank looks better and more relaxed as he feeds Sumo bits of his meal, so Connor remains a silent spectator. Eventually, work comes up and Connor tells Hank about his day and about how the captain wants to speak to them.

“Well, he can do that tomorrow,” Hank says, scooping up the rest of his noodles. 

“I’m not sure you going back to work so soon is a good idea,” Connor cautions.

“I’m not staying here alone,” Hank states. “I’m fine, the arm barely hurts anymore.”

It’s obvious that he is not fine, but Connor doesn’t want to leave him alone for the day again. Captain Fowler would probably understand if Connor wanted to stay in, too, to take care of Hank. The thing is, Connor is not a caretaker, not really. While what he was programmed to do doesn’t have to mean anything, now that he’s a deviant, he’d still much rather be at the station doing his job than stuck at the house with Hank. That Hank also wants to go to work is a bonus; that way Connor can work and keep an eye on him at the same time. 

“If you’re sure,” Connor says.

* * *

The next day, the moment they arrive at the station, Captain Fowler calls them into his office. They stand by his desk while he cleans away some files and sighs.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” the captain says.

“Yeah, so, what do you make of it?” Hank asks.

“Frankly, I don’t know what I saw in that clip, but I think you made the right call not telling anyone about it.” Fowler looks at the both of them, frowning as always. “I have to keep my superiors in the loop, and I’ve told patrols to only approach with extreme caution.”

“I doubt he’s in the city anymore,” Connor says.

“I doubt that, too, seeing as we found his tablet in the car.” The captain shoots Connor a look. “There’s some interesting emails on there, you might want to see.” Next, he glances at Hank’s injured arm. “How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine,” Hank says, which is the only thing Connor has managed to get out of him when he asked, too.

“That’s good. Let me know if it stops being fine.” He turns as if to go back to work. “We know who our killer is, now it’s a matter of catching him, probably outside the city limits. Take a look at the tablet. And Hank?” He raised his head to address Hank. “Think about taking a few days off. Connor can, too, if he feels the need.” 

They glance at each other before being dismissed and leaving for the evidence room. 

“Did you get really strange vibes from Fowler?” Hank asks as he’s scanning his keycard. “Like what’s with telling us to take days off? I’ve been shot before and he’s been hounding me to get back to work.” 

“He seemed pretty lenient, but we did just solve a case. Also, he might think that an experience like that needs some more time to process than getting shot at.” Connor follows Hank inside.

“Hmm, maybe,” Hank says, turning to look at him once they reach the end of the stairs. “I noticed how you didn’t say anything about what happened last night.” 

“I thought I’d leave it up to you.”

“No need to worry anyone when it might just be nothing.” It isn’t nothing and even though denial was an appealing option, it won’t help in the long run. 

“Hank-”

“I know,” Hank sighs. They go in, search out the tablet. Connor takes it, more comfortable with technology. It is android compatible so it doesn’t take him long to dig through it and find what they are looking for. The emails are interesting, he just doesn’t like the information they have to offer. He looks over at Hank, who is watching the files and mails flash past the screen over his shoulder.

He notices Connor looking. “What?”

“I have read the emails,” Connor says.

“And? What do they say that’s so alarming?”

Connor concentrates on his face, forces it to remain neutral. “Mr Linden was in contact with someone who signs their emails with Jan, and from what I gathered, Jan is the originator of his condition.”

“The origi-,” Hank looks confused and angry before his expression goes blank. “Let me see.” He goes for the tablet but Connor keeps it away from him. “Connor!”

He hears a faint growl in Hank’s voice. It doesn’t deter him. He steps away, putting some distance between them. “What I have here will further upset you.”

“You keeping it from me is what’s further upsetting me,” Hank says. “I have the right to know.”

“I know, I just.” He wants to protect Hank, but keeping this from him won’t accomplish it. “It confirms what we were afraid of.” Hank is also stubborn and doesn’t back down, even though the news deflate him a little.

“Give it to me.” Hank holds out his hand and Connor puts the tablet on it. He retreats away to read and because there are no chairs in the room, he sits next to the wall, on the floor. Connor leaves him to it.

After half an hour, Hank puts the tablet down. It’s not very professional to put evidence on the floor, but this is a special case. Connor walks over, takes the tablet and puts it back to where they took it, and sits next to Hank. Neither of them speak for a while, Connor waiting for Hank to say something first, and Hank processing.  

“He was scratched, too,” Hank says, eventually. “And got a fever, and felt weird.”

“Yes.” Connor has no words of comfort for the situation. He has some options, none of them are the right thing to say. “He didn’t transform fully until the first full moon. I think it’s safe to assume that you won’t either. That gives us some time.” Facts are easier. 

“Time to do what?” Hank asks. His eyes are hollow. “This guy did some horrible shit when he lost control. What if,” he doesn’t finish, just turns to look ahead. 

“Time to plan,” Connor says. “He had a basement where he locked himself in whenever it got bad, whatever that means. Maybe we should come up with a similar solution.” 

“Well, I don’t have a basement and apparently I can survive a shot to the head now, so I guess that’s out. Maybe I’ll just set myself on fire.” 

Connor doesn’t bother pointing out that a regular human can survive a shot to the head, too, under the right circumstances, and that fire also hurts them. It’s not what Hank means and it’s not what he needs to hear. “We’ll figure something out,” he goes with, instead. “You’re smart and I’m basically a supercomputer on legs, we can find a way to do this without anyone getting hurt.” He hopes.

“Kinda sounded like that’s what he was trying to do, too,” Hank points out.

“I’ve done something terrible. Leaving my territory is hard, but I have to disappear. You won’t hear from me again,” Connor quotes. It was in the latests of the emails, sent on the day they had found Mr Linden. While it sounded like he was sorry, he hadn’t turned himself in.

“What do you think he meant?” Hank turns to Connor again. “With his territory, I mean. Like, his familiar surroundings, or like when wolves have their hunting grounds?”

“Both are possible.” Being Detroit born and raised, it is likely that if he becomes territorial, Hank will consider the whole city his area. At least, he hadn’t displayed any signs of stress when they’d left his house that morning or while at the station. No signs of stress related to his location, that is. Connor puts his hand on Hank’s shoulder, squeezing it a little the way Hank had done for him many times in the past. Hank looks at him for a moment, sighs, and lets his head fall on his shoulder.

“Are you feeling any better?” Connor asks once the moment has stretched on long enough.

“Yeah, I guess,” Hank says. “Being, I mean, uh, this is going to sound creepy,” he cautions. Connor waits for him to continue. “You smell like my house, and me, and Sumo, and it’s soothing, so.”

It also seemed part of the change to have elevated senses, so Hank’s admission doesn’t come as much of a shock, not after last night. Connor doesn’t think it’s creepy that Hank has found a new reason to like being close to him. “It’s good, that you find it helpful.” 

Hank’s breath huffs against his neck, he can feel the tip of his nose. Last night, it was similar, but now he’s less confused and not as worried about Hank, and has the opportunity to take it all in. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something and doesn’t, his body shivers. It’s good but not a reaction he’s ever had before. Hank pulls away, straightening up.

“I think we’ve been in here long enough.” He starts to get up. “Let’s go get some work done.” He stands, offers Connor a hand. There’s a delay in Connor’s reaction time, not long enough for a human to notice, before he takes Hank’s hand and pulls himself up. 

* * *

Connor can tell that Hank is more easily agitated than usual. Some of it can be attributed to the recent changes to his life and the general stress of police work. The scene they have been called to is not a murder one, which is unusual; they’re there because Connor is an android. The victim is one, too, and he had refused to talk to any of the human officers who had been called in to investigate a disturbance. A couple humans had assaulted him and ran off.

They go to talk to him, Connor first and Hank a bit behind. The android eyes Hank suspiciously. “Hello, my name is Connor, and this is my partner, Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says and Hank raises his hand in greeting. “I need you to tell me what happened and describe your attackers.”

“You’re police?” the android asks, curious.

“I work for the police department, yes.”

“Did you before?”

Before the revolution, Connor assumes. “I was on loan from CyberLife, but now I’m an employee. We also have one receptionist and some beat cops who are androids,” he explains. Sometimes it helps to know that they are represented within the law enforcement, even though it’s not in large enough numbers. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

The android nods, curiosity sated at least for now. “I was out running some errands when two men started yelling at me. I didn’t react and tried to leave, but then one of them punched me and I think that got the other one riled up, too,” he says, offering his hand. “I can show you their faces.”

Connor takes the hand and sees glimpses of the incident. He files the information away, lets go. “Do you need help with getting to the closest repair shop?” he asks. The android is bleeding in a couple places but he’s standing up under his own power. It doesn’t hurt to ask. 

“No, I’m ok to go by myself.”

When it’s all sorted, Connor walks with Hank. It looks like Hank needs a moment and they parked a couple streets away. “Do you remember those androids that got set on fire last winter?” Hank asks. “I mean, of course you remember, probably better than I do. My point is, that the android friends of those ones refused to talk to me or the other human officers, too. They did the android telepathy thing with you the moment you showed up, though.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “I guess, my brain just dragged that one out because this is kinda similar, I dunno.” He shrugs. “Pisses me off, that it still happens. The androids getting attacked part, not that they don’t trust us. That’s probably a smart move.”

Connor moves to walk closer to him. “It’d help if there were more androids in the force.” He knows that it isn’t that simple. Obviously models like him that were built for police work were qualified, but what if someone else wants to apply? Do they go to the academy? Download a program? It is issues like that Markus and his people are working on, but it is slow going. 

“It’d also help if humans stopped giving you guys reasons to be distrustful in the first place,” Hank says. The wind blows from Connor’s direction and he likes to think that it has something to do with Hank beginning to calm down. By the time they get to the car, Hank’s tension has melted away.

He sighs. “Maybe I should think about taking a couple days off.” He stops, thinking and glancing at Connor. “Are you going to, uh, keep working?”

It’s clear that he can’t just abandon Hank in his time of need. Connor’s work is important to him, but so is Hank. And he’s amazing at multitasking. “I’ll take some work with me.” There’s always things to file and old evidence he can look at and reports Hank’s behind in he can help with. 

Hank rolls his eyes, but it’s good-natured. “Of course.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now finished writing this, so I'm gonna just publish the chapters whenever in an effort to get most of them out before I leave for the holidays.

They end up getting three days off. It is the three days before the weekend, so in total they have five vacation days. Connor has never had a break that long. The work he assigned himself over the three days won’t take more than a couple hours a day, and after that it’s just spending time with Hank. Which it great, but he’s not sure how he’s going to survive that much relaxing. 

After they stop by Connor’s apartment to get some things, they go to the store to buy food for Hank. It’s not going to be five days of takeout and TV.

“We can’t just stay indoors,” Connor says to Hank’s suggestion that they marathon movies.

“We’re not.” Hank reaches for an item. “We need to walk Sumo.”

“I mean besides that.” Connor takes it from him and puts the variant with less additives in their cart. “We should use this time to do something productive.”

“The whole point of taking time off is so you don’t need to be productive,” Hank argues. “I know you’re like this super workaholic, but come on.” 

Despite the brilliant argument of “come on”, Connor presses on, “We need to find a safe place for you to,” he pauses, looks around to see if there are people within hearing distance. There’s a couple at the end of the aisle but they’re too focused on each other to hear them. “Transform.” The next full moon is on Saturday. It gives them time to prepare, but not if they waste it by being in denial.  

Hank frowns. “I was hoping you’d drop it for the next day or two.”

“I know it’s hard for you, but we have to plan ahead,” Connor keeps his voice down, leans more towards Hank. “If it’ll make things easier, I can scout for a location by myself.” 

“I’m not going to make you do all the work, but just.” He sighs and they walk to the next aisle. “Not today, okay?”

“Alright.” 

“And,” Hank picks up a box of muffins. “You’re going to let me eat these without saying anything.”

Connor narrows his eyes. He cares about Hank’s well-being and wants to make this as easy for him as he can, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to grant his every request. “You can have two of those without me saying anything.” 

“No, all six,” Hank insists.

“No, two. A day.” He feels like more than one is pushing it, but he’s feeling lenient. “That way you’ll have muffins for the next three days instead of just today,” he reasons. His negotiation tactics may be useful on the field, but they get more use with Hank. 

“I don’t need your permission, I’m a grown ass man.” Hank drops the muffins in the cart. It seems like he’s not feeling too reasonable today.

“This isn’t about whether or not you can eat the muffins, it’s about whether I say anything. I’m not going to stop you from eating what you want, but I am going to keep reminding you how bad for you it is.” He leaves it at that, more focused on getting them to the produce section before Hank decides that he’s had enough. 

“You’re so mean to me, why are we friends?”

Connor recognizes that it’s more of a rhetorical question, and that Hank is just feeling petulant, but he answers anyway. “Deep down you know that I’m only mean to you because I care.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re like a big ol’ wife-bot,” Hank says and they both stop to process that, Hank embarrassed, Connor confused.

“Shouldn’t it be a mom-bot?” he asks.

“Uh, I guess. I don’t know where I got wife, that’s, yeah,” Hank trails off and turns to look at a shelf.

“Also, I’d like to think that I’m more of a husband.”

“Well, uh, you are a dude and everything, but there was never really a nagging husband stereotype.” He picks something and puts it in the cart, still not looking at Connor. It’s a rather severe reaction to a slip of the tongue and a mixed metaphor, Connor doesn’t think it was that bad and he’s not offended. Hank on the other hand looks to be beating himself up about it. 

“I’m gonna go get some beer,” Hank says. “You can pick the greens, I know you love that stuff.” He leaves Connor with the cart and wanders off. They stay separated for a while, because even though he doesn’t understand why now, Connor knows when Hank needs some space. He’ll bring it up later, to make sure Hank knows he didn’t say anything that bad. 

When they meet up near the cash registers, Hank has only one case of beer. It is a good sign that he’s not spiraling. Connor got some meat and vegetables, along with a treat for Sumo.

Hank sees it and snorts. “You’re spoiling him rotten.” 

“He deserves it.” Connor observes Hank while they wait. It is better to not let things fester, so he gets right to easing Hank’s nerves. “You didn’t say anything wrong, earlier.”

“That’s good,” is what Hank has to say on the matter. 

“Just in case you were worried that you offended me,” Connor goes on.

“Hmm,” Hank says. He’s learned that he can’t straight up lie to Connor, so when he wants to keep something to himself, he says as little about it as possible. The bad thing about that, for him, is that Connor has figured him out. If he wasn’t worried about causing offense, it must be something else. So while they wait, Connor breaks down the conversation, analyzing. 

The two possible offenses were Hank referring to him as a bot and getting his gender wrong. Hank confirmed that those weren’t the issue, so it was most likely the other implications of calling Connor a wife, or his wife in particular. That they were romantically involved.

Conclusion number one is that Hank is so opposed to them being romantically involved that even the thought causes him distress. Conclusion number two is that Hank wants to be romantically involved, but also wants to keep that desire a secret, and is worried that his slip could clue Connor in. 

The line moves and they take a couple steps forward. Hank is looking through his wallet. Nothing in his outward manner tells Connor which one is the right conclusion. It needs further investigating.   

* * *

Sumo gets his treat and they take him for a walk. He’s elated and Hank looks more relaxed, whatever got to him in the store now forgotten. Connor doesn’t forget, but he puts it in the back of his mind. His main focus still needs to be on how to deal with Hank’s situation, and while he agreed on not bringing it up with Hank, he can work on a solution if he does it without Hank noticing. 

They go walk around the neighborhood and make it past the half hour mark before Hank decides that he’s had enough. It’s time to get in some rest and relaxation, so they head back to the house, Hank throws himself on the couch and Connor sits with him. 

“What do you do on your days off, anyway?” Hank asks, reaching for the remote.

“I spend them with you,” Connor says. It gives Hank pause for whatever reason. “Or on the rare occasions I don’t, I work from my apartment.” 

“I should’ve guessed,” Hank mutters. He gets up, starts walking away. “I’m gonna borrow you a shirt so you’ll look less like you’re still at work.” Connor looks down at himself, in his suit and tie. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what he is wearing, but he has no objections to wearing something else, either. Hank comes back with a T-shirt. It’s worn and soft.

“Here,” Hank says. He goes to sit back down and looks at the television very hard while Connor changes. The shirt hangs off him in weird ways, but then, he is less broad than Hank.

“I am now prepared to laze around,” Connor says, dressed so it’s safe for Hank to look again. 

He does, eyeing the neckline that goes lower and wider on Connor. “I’m not convinced you even know what that means. How do I know you’re not working right now?”

“You don’t.” Connor tries to concentrate on the TV, but it’s hard. He can see Hank glancing at him out of his peripheral, so really, neither of them is paying attention. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” he asks. 

“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Hank is marginally more tense than he has been so far.

“You seem distracted.” 

“I’m not.”

“Would it be easier for you to relax if I wasn’t here?” It’s a logical question. Hank is distracted enough by Connor’s presence that he’s not watching TV, which is something he does to relax. Therefor, if Connor leaves, Hank can relax better. Hank doesn’t see it that way.

“No!” he denies, then dials it down. “No, I like it when, uh, it’s fine if you stay.” 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“What you’re already doing is fine, putting up with me,” Hank goes for the remote, but Connor is faster and snatches it away to make sure he’s paying attention.

“I don’t put up with you, I enjoy your company.” He knows that nothing he says will make a difference if Hank’s not willing to believe it, and he’s not there yet, but he will be. “We’ve already established this, you’re my closest friend. I’m only here because I want to be.” 

Hank stares like he doesn’t understand what he’s hearing, then he looks away. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Make me,” Connor challenges and for some inexplicable reason, it makes Hank blush. It’s blotchy and unflattering on him, but Connor is more confused by the reaction than focused on how aesthetically pleasing it looks. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, I’m just being dumb,” Hank says in a hurry and gets up and leaves. He locks himself into the bathroom for a few minutes before going to the kitchen, getting a can of beer and downing it. While it is unclear what this is a sign of, it’s nothing good, so Connor follows him to see if he’s alright. 

“Hank?”

“I’m fine,” Hank says and crushes the can. He goes for a second one, but Connor puts himself bodily between him and the fridge. Gently, Connor takes the crushed can and goes to throw it at the trash, but Hank doesn’t let go of his hand. He looks at their joined fingers like he’s trying to carve it into memory. Connor waits, it feels like something should happen when they’re standing this close, with him standing between Hank and the fridge, Hank’s arm extended to open it on one side, the hand he’s holding Connor’s on the other. But nothing does, and Hank let’s go, steps back. 

“I think I’m gonna turn in early,” Hank says.

“You haven’t had dinner yet,” Connor points out, finally getting rid if the can.

“I’m not that hungry.” Hank goes, shuts the bedroom door behind him. Connor looks at his hand, as though it knows more about what just happened than his head does, but, predictably, it doesn’t have answers. 

* * *

That night Connor spends on the couch. He lies down, closes his eyes and shuts off most of his processes. It’s unnecessary but helps pass the time. When first sunlight gets through the curtains, he rises, checking that everything is running as it should. There’s a weight on his leg, and when he looks down, he sees Hank, half lying on the floor, half leaning on the couch and on Connor. Sumo is curled up with him, snoring.

After observing the scene, he lays a hand on Hank’s back, shaking him a little. It doesn’t rouse him right away so Connor does it harder. “Hank, wake up.” 

Hank mutters something, a confused curse, and blinks awake. He looks down at Sumo, then up at Connor, like where he is hasn’t caught up with him yet. It dawns on him slowly and he sits up, buries his face in his hands, curses again but this time with more coherence. Once he gets it out of his system, he peeks at Connor, sees that he’s neutral to the situation, and says, “I thought I was dreaming.”

“About coming to the living room and falling asleep again?” 

“Yeah. I guess the lack of surreal shit should’ve clued me in that it was real, huh?”

Connor, who has never dreamed, but knows how they work in theory, agrees. “I suppose so.” 

Sumo barks, startling himself awake. Hank jumps, too, curses, but gets up to let the dog out. They don’t talk before Hank gets his coffee and Sumo gets his food. Questions about last night and this morning keep piling up until Connor has to say something.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night,” is what he says, after sitting down with Hank. It’s not the right thing, Hank looks at him like he’s stupid.

“You? Why, you didn’t do anything. I’m more worried that I made you uncomfortable,” Hank says.

“You didn’t.” Confused, yes, uncomfortable, no. “I’d like to know what it was about, though.”

“It wasn’t about anything.”

“Hank,” Connor searches out his eyes until he has them. “I want to help you but I can’t do that if you keep shutting me out.” 

Hank breaks eye contact. “You can’t help me with this.” 

Connor narrows his eyes, leaning closer. “On the contrary, I think I’m the only one who can.” He watches carefully, hoping that he isn’t being too aggressive, that Hank doesn’t run or lash out. It pays off, and Hank, looking like this is the last conversation he wants to have, leans back on his chair.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before you noticed.” He drinks the rest of the coffee and side eyes Connor, as though directly looking at him is too much for him right now. “You don’t seem weirded out or anything.”

Quite happy to let Hank incriminate himself, Connor keeps an open, neutral face. “I’m not, I just wish you’d talk to me.” 

Hank huffs, a harsh breath out of his nose. “And say what? Oh hey, by the way Connor, I’ve made the most dumbass move ever and fallen in love with you?”

Everything stops. This was a possibility, but he wasn’t prepared. “You’re in love with me?” he asks, dropping the facade of knowing what’s going on.

“What- you?” Hank has trouble speaking. He sputters for a while, face going from horrified to enraged and back. “You said you knew!” he shouts, standing up.

“I never said that,” Connor defends, sinking back a little. He realizes, belatedly, that what he did was “a dick move” and Hank has a right to be angry. Hank bares his teeth. “I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I noticed something was going on, but I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. I only wanted to narrow it down, I didn’t think you-,” he doesn’t finish. He hadn’t thought that Hank would confess his love for him.

“Well, congratulations, you solved the case,” Hank says, bitter and sarcastic. “What’s your next move?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you going to do now? Are you going to run away screaming or tell me that you’re flattered but maybe we should spend more time with other people?”

Connor frowns at his options. Neither of them sounds right and both include leaving Hank. The man looks away, some of his aggression dying down. He wipes at his face and his voice breaks a bit when he asks, “Well?”

“I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t include a scenario where I stay,” Connor says, careful, getting up and approaching Hank, who is not looking at him and is hiding his face behind his hair. “Hey.” Connor reaches up to get the hair off Hank’s face; his eyes are wet and he refuses eye contact still, but he’s not running or pushing Connor away.

“I don’t need your pity,” Hank protests without force behind it.

“It’s not pity,” Connor confirms. “I’m sorry I made you reveal something you didn’t want to, but I don’t understand why you kept it a secret.” 

“Because being friends is one thing, but finding out I wanted something more from you?” Hank smiles, a tiny, false thing. “Shit, why wouldn’t you run?” 

“What is it then, that you want?” Connor asks. It can’t be anything as bad as Hank has made it out to be in his head.

“I don’t know, just, uh, spending time together and walking Sumo and curling up to watch TV on the couch, maybe on special occasions going out somewhere,” Hank says. “And uh, you know, stuff.”

“But Hank, we already do those things.” They spend time together all the time and walk Sumo and watch TV and end up in positions on the couch that could be categorized as “curling up” and they have been out on occasion.

“Huh,” says Hank, like he just realized it, too. “Well, I mean, not all of them.”

“Oh, you mean sex.”

“Jesus.” Hank looks up, apparently appealing to a higher deity. “That just sounds like I’ve been perving on my younger, hotter friend, when I, um, I’m talking about like romancing you and shit. Maybe getting to find out how you like to be touched.” He is very red, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. Connor feels warm, his internal temperature rising a couple degrees. Nothing alarming, just unusual. 

“But you’re pretty and smart, and I’m a human trash bag, so.” Hank shrugs.

“You are not,” is what Connor says because he doesn’t have a response for anything else Hank just said. He didn’t know Hank thought those things about him and now that he does, he doesn’t know what to do with that information. It doesn’t look like Hank expects anything from him, other than for him to run away, which isn’t what he’s about to do. It takes some of the pressure off, that he doesn’t have to say anything right now, that he can think about it and get back to it, or they can just not talk about it ever again. 

“I’m glad you told me,” he says.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t go as badly as I thought it would.” Hank rubs at his face and finally looks Connor in the eye. “It doesn’t have to change anything.”

Connor says, “Okay,” and Hank says it back to him. They stand there not knowing what to do or where to go from here and Connor thinks that Hank might take this to mean that they are never going to bring it up again, but that’s not what Connor wants. He wants to figure out if maybe it should change something. He cares about Hank a lot, but doesn’t know if it’s what Hank feels or something completely different, if it matters that they might not feel the same things towards each other. The spectrum of human emotion is vast, and Connor only knows the basics. 

In the end, Hank sits back down to eat his breakfast and Connor keeps him company. Just like they always do when Connor stays the night. The difference is that after, Hank brings out an actual paper map, spreads it on the table and they get to work figuring out how to handle the werewolf thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol they're bad at feelings


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more things that happen.

It seems like the best solution, is to get Hank out of the city for the night of the full moon. They drive to scope out a possible area. The day is nice and it’s easy to confuse the trip with a fun day out in nature. Connor has never seen a big, real forest, and even though the reason they’re going is more important, he is also excited for the opportunity. 

They park where the road ends and walk into the woods. Sumo is with them, running around off the leash to help check the surroundings. Hank is the least excited of the three, having gone quiet when they left the city. Connor keeps an eye on him, but more importantly, he looks for signs of hikers and other nature lovers. It’s quiet apart from some birds and there are no visible man made pathways. So far, it looks like this could be it. 

“What do you think?” Connor asks after they’ve made it out far enough. Sunlight filters through the foliage and he stops to look up at the sky. He understands why someone might like this, even though he prefers the city. Hank hasn’t answered him yet, so he looks to where he saw him last. He’s still there, standing a little ways away, looking over, eyes gone soft. He’s smiling a little, but stops when he notices that he’s been spotted.

“Uh, it’s fine. I don’t see any people and the last building we saw was just as far as it was on the map,” Hank says, looking around. He’s tense and on the lookout for something, though less so when Connor gets closer. “Do you think it’ll work?” he asks, glancing at Connor, who has stopped to stand next to him.

“Yes.” Connor isn’t as sure as he sounds, but he doesn’t want Hank to feel more insecure about the transformation than he already does. There’s a margin of error small enough to not warrant mentioning. “And I’ll be here to keep an eye out.”

“Yeah, I have some mixed feelings about that,” Hank says, crossing his arms. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. What if I don’t recognize you?”

“Based on your previous reactions to me, I think you will,” Connor points out. “Wolves live in family groups, it’s reasonable to assume that you see me as a part of yours.” It‘s not much of a revelation; they spend almost all of their time together, Hank loves him. Of course they’re pack. 

“I guess,” Hank agrees, reluctant. “I’m just worried, about you being safe.”

“And I’m worried about you being safe, and that’s why I’m coming with you.” It’s not a negotiation. There is no way Connor will let Hank go through it alone, there is nothing Hank can say or do to make him change his mind.

Hank must see the stubbornness on his face and deflates a bit. “I just couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you,” he admits.

“You won’t hurt me,” Connor says, and it’s what he knows. Hank doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he knows to pick his battles. Instead of arguing, he reaches out and cups Connor’s cheek, a question in his eyes, if this is okay. Connor leans into it, more than fine with being touched so gently. Hank steps close, kisses him on the forehead, steps back. Connor processes the sensation of lips on skin and decides that he likes it. 

“Um,” Hank says, lets go. He looks unsure of himself, shifting his weight. 

“You’re fine,” says Connor, smiling before turning to look for Sumo. The dog hasn’t gone far, still within sight, sniffing at the ground. Hank calls him over and he runs to them. 

“I think we should look around some more, just to be safe,” Hank says, scratching at Sumo’s ears before the dog runs off again. It’s unnecessary and Hank doesn’t seem comfortable with staying, but Connor wants to explore the forest now that he has the chance. So they stay and walk around until the members of the party that need food to live get hungry. Connor enjoys it, and it’s possible that is the reason they stayed so long, traveling over fallen trees and mud puddles when they could’ve left hours ago, back to the paved streets and food joints. It’s nice.

* * *

Later, when Hank has made himself dinner, they’re back at the table. He’s tired from all the walking and driving, and they don’t talk much. Even Sumo has spent up all his energy, passed out near his bowl. They have a concrete plan for the night of the full moon, and now all there is to do is see how things develop. 

Hank looks like he’s about to fall asleep any second. It’s not late but they’ve had a big day, and it’ll be good for him, to sleep a full eight hours.

“You should go to bed,” Connor coaxes. 

“Yeah.” Hank rubs at his eyes, yawning. “Going to bed before ten on my day off, really makes me feel like an old man.” 

“We still have a couple days to stay up late, if that’s what you want.” 

“We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.” With that, he walks off to do his nightly business and head to bed. Connor turns off the lights, settles on the couch.

This time, when Hank wanders into the living room in the middle of the night, Connor detects it. He gets up to intercept before Hank falls asleep on the floor again. It doesn’t look like Hank is fully awake, and when Connor guides him back to bed, he goes with minimal grumbling. After he lies down, he wraps an arm around Connor, pulling him with. It’s enough of an unexpected move to unbalance him, making him fall until he catches himself with his arms before he lands on Hank. It can’t be comfortable, having Connor on him sideways, but Hank doesn’t let him go far. He adjusts so that they’re next to each other, and stays. It wouldn’t be that hard to get up and leave; he is stronger than Hank, but he doesn’t see the point. He’s not uncomfortable, and Hank sleeps better with him, so it’s not much of a sacrifice to lie there instead of on the couch. 

Hank mutters something unintelligible, wrapping his arms around Connor and throwing a leg over him. Deciding that it’s out of his hands and he has no choice, Connor settles down. Based on experience, he knows that Hank is likely to react with embarrassment and possibly anger upon waking up. He could prevent this by slipping out before Hank wakes, but he also wants Hank to know that he’s ok with the arrangement, and hiding that it happened would make that a lot harder. Though, it could be that now that Hank’s emotional turmoil over secretly being in love has been resolved, he won’t find showing affection as threatening to their friendship. Connor plays around with some scenarios, of what he should say and how Hank is likely to react. This needs to be a positive experience, for Hank’s emotional well-being, but also for Connor to get what he wants.

At some point during the night, Hank stirs a little. Not enough to wake up, but enough to mumble a couple syllables and tighten his grip around Connor. One of his hands moves to press against the small of Connor’s back, bringing them closer. It’s a warm weight on his spine and coupled with Hank’s face right by his throat, gets Connor out of his plans and into the present. He’s warm and the longer he lies there, the more jittery he starts to feel, like there’s a growing urgency inside him. He doesn’t know what to do to relieve it, but as he lays his own hand on Hank’s arm, it gets a little easier to stand. The growing heat he tries to deal with by opening his mouth for better airflow. What comes out is a static sound, like his voice modulator is somehow damaged. There’s nothing wrong with it, the diagnostic comes back clean.

The situation gets worse when Hank sighs in his sleep, moves the hand up Connor’s back. He feels the warm breath on his neck and the strange glitch acts up, this time with stronger static. If it goes on, it might wake up Hank and Connor doesn’t want to disturb him. He wants it to stop, but he also wants more, thinks of how much better it would be if Hank’s hand was touching him without the barrier of a shirt. His thirium pump is working overtime, even though there’s nothing that warrants it. It’s unbearable and so good. 

It’s either the warmth he’s generating or the noise he’s making that wakes Hank up. Hank moves back enough to see Connor, eyes tired and squinting in the dark. “Connor?” he asks, voice rough from sleep. It takes him a moment to realized how close they are and when he does, he scoots back. Connor is both relieved and disappointed. 

“Hello,” says Connor. “It’s two thirty in the morning. You came into the living room again so I took you back to bed and you wouldn’t let me go after.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Hank lets go of Connor completely and moves farther away.

“I didn’t mean that I was unwilling to stay, just that you were quite adamant that I did,” Connor corrects himself. “I’m comfortable here.” Comfortable isn’t the right word, but he is something. 

“That’s good, I guess,” Hank says. He doesn’t sound convinced, like he thinks that he did something he shouldn’t have and Connor is too polite to tell him. “You shouldn’t just let me get away with this shit because you feel sorry for me or whatever.” 

“I assure you that’s not the case. In fact, since it seems like you sleep better with me here, we should make this a habit.” It sounds so selfless, like it’s for Hank’s benefit, but it’s not, not purely. 

“No, see, when you say it like that, it just sounds like you’re doing it for me, no matter how you actually feel about it,” Hank argues, so maybe honesty would work better.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Connor admits. “While it would keep you from wandering, I also liked it when you held me.” He moves closer and, when Hank doesn’t move or say anything, he takes Hank’s hand and places it on his hip, guiding it up so it lifts his shirt as it goes. It’d feel better if Hank was an active participant, but before he can suggest that, Hank takes his hand back and jumps off the bed.

“Nope, can’t do this,” he says and leaves the room. A few seconds later, the front door bangs shut. He hears Sumo whine and gets up to see if Hank at least put on shoes. He did, and Connor lets Sumo get on the couch with him so they can cuddle away their confusion at Hank’s sudden departure. It feels like an overreaction when Hank could have just told Connor that he didn’t want to touch him. 

A couple hours pass before the door eases open. Hank slips inside as silently as he can, but Sumo is on him right away. The house is dark and perhaps in the hopes of not alerting Connor, Hank doesn’t turn on the lights. So when Connor comes to stand in the doorway to the living room, he doesn’t notice him before Connor speaks.

“Hello, Hank.”

Hank curses and jumps, almost tripping over his shoes and then Sumo. He recovers and goes for the light switch, flicking it on so he can better glare at Connor. “Don’t do that, I almost had a fucking heart attack.” 

He didn’t, but Connor doesn’t bother pointing that out. “I apologize,” he says. “But I’d appreciate if you used your words when I overstep instead of leaving the house in the middle of the night.” It could have been dangerous, and if Hank had been hurt because Connor was being selfish, he couldn’t forgive himself. “It’s fine if you don’t want to touch me, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Hank looks dumbfounded for a moment. He drags a hand down his face, looking away. “Believe me, not wanting to touch you is not the problem.” 

“Then why did you run when offered the opportunity?” Mixed signals, is what he’s getting. Hank says one thing but does the other. 

“Because you don’t understand what you’re asking of me,” Hank says. It’s just one more confusing thing on top of the countless other confusing things.

“Then explain it to me.” The frustration bleeds into his voice. At first, it seems like Hank is going to try and evade the issue, maybe even by leaving again. This time, Connor is ready to give chase. Hank can’t outrun him, he will get answers.

“Look, it’s,” Hank starts, rethinks his words, starts again, “I’m not strong enough to keep it platonic if you put my hand inside your shirt, okay? That’s asking way too much of me and my self control.” 

Finally, he understands the problem. It’s not that Hank doesn’t want to touch him, it’s that Hank wants to touch him in ways that he thinks Connor won’t enjoy. In ways that would somehow cross the boundaries of friendship. Connor is pretty sure that wanting Hank’s hand on his skin isn’t a friendly want. “That might not be as far from what I want as you think,” Connor confesses. “I mean, the not strictly platonic touching.” 

Hank is silent, staring, like he’s stopped understanding what words mean. “Okay, that’s, uh,” is what comes out of his mouth after a while. He takes some time to think it through before speaking again. “Alright, pretend that I’m really dumb and spell it out for me because I don’t trust myself with interpreting what you just said right.”

“I can do that.” He can, but he thinks Hank is making things needlessly complicated when he could just touch him already. “I want you to touch me, and if it is not in a way that friends touch each other, that is acceptable.”

“Acceptable,” Hank repeats and Connor realizes how that sounds. Like he can tolerate it, instead of it being something he wants. 

“It’s what I want you to do,” he clarifies. Hank watches him carefully, but whatever he sees doesn’t deter him from approaching. He stops to stand in front of Connor, inches apart, and reaches for Connor’s hip, where he had retreated from earlier, sliding the shirt up as he goes.

“I’m kinda curious,” Hank says as he gets a bit bolder with his touches. “If you’ve had your sexual awakening or whatever, and I’m just conveniently here to experiment with.” He presses his hand against Connor’s back, like he did in his sleep, bringing them together. 

“I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.” The thought, of someone else in Hank’s place right then, is an unpleasant one. He tries to construct it, put some other person where Hank is, now with both hands on him, but he’s unwilling to let it play out. He erases the whole scenario. “It has to be you.” It strikes him as weird that he’s just standing there when he could also be touching Hank. So he brings his arms around Hank’s neck to bury one in his hair. As a consequence, their faces get closer, foreheads touching. It’s sort of like a hug, like they’re closer, but there’s also steps they could take to be more so. 

Hank moves his hand up, as though counting the bumps of Connor’s spine. Connor closes his eyes to better take it all in, feels the heat, and opens his mouth draw in cool air. It doesn’t do much, he mostly breathes in what Hank breathes out, but that’s fine, too. 

“Oh boy,” Hank says. “You’re, uh, do you like this?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes.” Why wouldn’t he, when it’s Hank.

“Can I kiss you?”

Connor opens his eyes, doesn’t counter with a “I don’t know, can you?” when he sees Hank’s hesitation up close.

“Too far?” Hank asks. “We can stop.”

He doesn’t understand why Hank offers to stop right after Connor confirmed that he’s enjoying himself. “No, it’s fine. You may kiss me.”

Hank takes a breath to steel himself and lays his lips on Connor’s. The beard tickles and Hank’s lips are chapped, and there are no fireworks or swelling music like human media advertised, but it’s still nice. Until Connor opens his mouth. Then it’s all Hank all the time, information about what he last ate and the toothpaste he uses. Connor can’t taste, but he likes knowing things, especially about Hank, and his mouth and tongue opens worlds for him. He moans and it comes out broken and strange, more robotic than human. He pulls back. “Sorry.”

“Was that a good noise or a bad noise?” Hank asks. He doesn’t sound startled or like he’s any less into the proceedings than he was.

“It’s a good noise, but I don’t know why it sounds like that.” It isn’t a hardware issue, everything is working as it should. “I know it’s weird.”

“If I was bothered by you doing weird stuff, we wouldn’t be here,” Hank says, and they’re still close enough for Connor to feel him smile. It eases the insecurity in Connor, he grins a bit, too. The warmth he feels settles into something calm and safe.

“Are you tired?” he asks, prompted by Hank increasing the distance between them and yawning. “You haven’t slept the full eight hours.”

“Hm, wanna come with? I could use the company.”

It is exactly what he’s hoping Hank would suggest. “Of course.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most body horror-y chapter. The transformation isn't super explicit, but if that sort of thing freaks you out, be careful.

Hank’s anxiety increases the closer they get to Saturday and the full moon. He paces and takes Sumo out for walks more often than usual, sometimes baring Connor from going with him. Connor respects his wish to be alone, but he is still worried that Hank will do something he shouldn’t. So when Hank is gone, he goes through all the cabinets and other hiding places to make sure there’s no hard liquor in the house. He digs up Hank’s gun and removes the bullets. Hank can have them back on Monday. 

They are just precautions. It has been month since Hank’s last bout of serious suicidal ideation, and Connor likes to think that them spending so much time together is helping to keep the darker thoughts away. Hank makes comments about how he craves the sweet embrace of death, but that seems more like a part of the fatalistic humor his generation enjoys, and less of a cry for help. It doesn’t hurt to be careful, nevertheless.

On Friday night, they’re once again sitting in the living room. Sumo lies in the corner, tired from all the extra exercise. They sit closer than they used to, leaning against each other. Hank’s arm is on the backrest, wrapping around Connor. It’s cozy, and rare in the sense that there’s no movie or music playing. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch something?” Connor asks. He’s fine just sitting there, but Hank usually isn’t.

“Tomorrow at this time I’ll be a wolf.” It doesn’t answer the question, but it does provide an explanation of sorts. Hank is thinking, perhaps reflecting back on his life, dreading the future. “Do you think it’ll hurt? The change, I mean.” 

There’s no way for Connor to know. “I imagine that there’d be more screaming in pain involved if it was as painful as it looked,” is what he says. Greg Linden hadn’t screamed as he had transformed. “So no, I don’t think it’ll hurt.” 

“At least that’s something, I guess,” Hank comments. “A silver lining. I might be running around killing people but I won’t be in pain.”

“That’s good, think positive.” Connor snakes an arm over Hank’s to get at his hair, dwelling his fingers in it. Hank sighs and slumps more into him, closing his eyes. “I’ll be there to help you through it,” he consoles, even while knowing that there’s not much he can do, except provide moral support. There is no cure as far as he’s aware, and he refuses to use fire, a werewolf weakness according to the emails, against Hank.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t,” Hank admits quietly. Connor can hazard a guess, but he’d rather not think about it. He is here and he’s not going away as long as Hank lets him stay. 

“There’s no need to speculate about that,” Connor says. “The first time will probably be the hardest, so let’s just focus on getting you through it.” 

Hank hmms. “It’s pretty handy, you being so goal oriented. I wouldn’t know which way’s up.”

“I told you not to speculate.” Connor pushes at him a little in punishment. It’s not much of one, seeing how Hank barely jostles. 

“No, you said there’s no need to,” Hank points out. 

“Semantics,” Connor counters, though he feels like their roles have been reversed. 

Hank raises his head, turns to give Connor a look. “Really? You run on semantics, and now suddenly it doesn’t matter. How’s it feel, Connor?” Hank pokes at him. “How’s it feel to be a hypocrite?” 

“It feels great, Hank. Four and a half stars out of five, would ignore a small detail to win an argument again.” It’s good to see Hank come out of his dark thoughts a little, so Connor plays into it.

Hank’s face does a thing that tells he’s fighting not to smile. “What’s the half star for?”

“I could do without you poking me,” Connor says, a lot better at keeping a neutral expression. 

The faux seriousness on Hank’s face breaks and he looks away. It’s a soft look, directed at his lap, like Hank is embarrassed to let Connor see. He knows what’s there, knows about the affection that he himself feels. too. He doesn’t think he’s as good at it as Hank is and less ready to name it love, but he doubts Hank would hold it against him, so he won’t hold it against himself, either. 

They sit together for a while longer. There is no hurry to get up the next day, as long as they make it to their selected spot before moonrise, so Connor doesn’t badger Hank about going to bed. Hank isn’t in a place where sleep can find him easily, in any case. He’s too busy thinking about the next night and worrying about what he might do. Connor worries, too, but he doesn’t need to rest, and not sleeping won’t affect his state of mind. 

“Let’s move this party to the bedroom, I feel like lying down,” Hank says and gets up, drawing Connor with him. It sounds like Connor is also invited, so he goes in to change while Hank gets ready in the bathroom. He wears Hank’s shirt and his pajama pants when he climbs under the covers. Hank joins him, turns off the lights. Perhaps embolden by the darkness, Hank leans over Connor and kisses him. It turns open mouthed, and Hank sneaks a hand on Connor’s stomach, under the shirt. Connor touches the gap between Hank’s front teeth and Hank groans, kisses deeper. They should stop, but Connor indulges a little before breaking the kiss, placing his own hand on top of Hank’s. 

“You’re in a very emotionally vulnerable state right now,” Connor says. He wants to continue; Hank’s emotional well-being comes first. “It leads me to believe that you’re doing this to distract yourself.”

Hank sighs and rolls to his side of the bed. “I guess, but it’s not like that’s the only thing motivating me, here.”

“You’re romantically and sexually attracted to me,” Connor states. For some reason, it makes Hank snort.

“If that’s the way you want to put it, Mr Romance.” 

“It is. But if you’d like me to word it in a way that’s more romantic, I can give it a try,” he offers.

“I don’t really care, but there is a middle ground between sappy and sounding like an encyclopedia.” 

Connor thinks about it. “Those parameters are vague.”

Hank pats him on the chest, pulling the covers more over them both. “Don’t worry about it.”             

* * *

This time when they drive to the woods, they don’t take Sumo. Neither of them knows how the dog would react to his owner turning into a wolf, so even though Connor doubts that Hank would do anything to Sumo, they can’t risk it. 

They leave in the early evening to have enough time to hike far into the woods. Connor has a change of clothes for Hank in a backpack, as well as some water and first aid supplies. He dug out his boots and jacket from his Jericho-infiltrating days for a more forest appropriate look. If he’s going to be running around with a wolf, he’s not going to do it in his work clothes. 

Hank is silent during the drive and the walk farther into the forest. There’s no guide for a situation like this, and Connor doesn’t think there are any words he could say to make Hank feel better. 

The sun has almost set when they get to a side of a hill that seems like as a good a spot as any. He offers Hank the water bottle and Hank drinks from it, glancing around in the darkening forest. They have a flashlight, but Connor doesn’t need it and neither will Hank once the moon is up. 

“How are you feeling?” Connor asks. It’s dumb, but it’s out there, and he feels a bit better when they’re not standing around in silence.

“I dunno,” Hank replies. “Nervous? Scared? Worried that this whole thing’ll go tits up? It’s one of those.” He gives the water back and Connor slips it in the little side pocket on the backpack. 

“Those are all understandable things to feel.” 

“You could still leave, you know,” Hank says. “Get in the car, drive off and come back for me in the morning.” He says it like it’s at all reasonable and a thing Connor can do, like leaving him alone in a dark forest is just that easy. 

“I’ve already decided to stay,” Connor informs. “There’s nothing short of deactivating me and dragging me back yourself you can do to make me leave.” 

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then I guess you’re out of options.” 

Hank recognizes a fight he can’t win. He sighs, looks up at the sky. It’s almost time. Connor takes off the backpack and unzips it.

“Give me all the clothes you want spared and your shoes.” He stares at Hank expectantly, watches him shift in place.

“You want me to strip while you stare at me?” Hank asks, going for humor but falling short.

“I can look away,” Connor offers. He is curious, he’s never seen Hank naked, but this isn’t the time and place for that. Hank seems to think that, too, as he only undresses down to his undershirt and boxers. The clothes and shoes go into the backpack and then they wait. 

The moon rises over the horizon and then the treeline. Connor can see it reflect off of Hank’s eyes. He backs off, just in case. Hank doubles over with a startled gasp, his back pushes through his shirt, grows hairy. The sound of his bones growing and realigning is louder than anything. He looks at his hands as they turn into clawed paws, his face elongating into a snout. 

Connor looks on wide-eyed. It’s different from seeing it happen on the alley to Werewolf Greg, this time he can take it in and watch as something that should be impossible happens right in front of him. By the end, Hank is a huge, light gray beast, bigger than Greg. He stands on his hind legs, sniffing the air before getting down on all four, directing his eyes on Connor. They are still the same blue.

When he approaches, Connor stays where he is, lets Hank come to him and sniff at him. There’s a tense moment, because what if Hank was right to worry and this goes horribly wrong, before Hank slobbers all over him in his excitement. His tail is whisking around as he tries to push into Connor with his massive head, but can’t do it without Connor losing his balance. 

“Hey, take it easy, you’re really strong like this.” Connor finds his voice doing the same thing it does when he’s talking to Sumo, and isn’t sure if it’s appropriate. He doesn’t know how much Hank understands like this or how much he’ll remember come morning, but he probably doesn’t want Connor to babytalk him. Hank is his friend and something else, like this he’s a dangerous predator and also the biggest pupper.

It seems like, from how he’s build and how he moves, that werewolves can walk on two feet, but prefer four for speed and agility. Hank never goes far, he runs around and marks a couple trees, which is somewhat awkward for Connor to watch. He keeps an eye or an ear on Connor at all times, comes by to push him so that if Connor wants to keep standing, he has to grab a hold on Hank’s fur. It’s thick and coarse, and remembering how human shaped Hank likes it when he plays with his hair, Connor buries his hands in the fur on wolf Hank’s head and gives it a good scratch. At that Hank flops down, boneless, and lets Connor keep scratching and petting. It’s endearing.

No matter how docile Hank is with him, Connor still keeps an eye out for other people and animals. It’s unlikely that anyone is out hiking at this hour, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure. 

While trotting in the forest, Hank’s ears perk up and for a horrible moment Connor thinks it’s a person that stepped on a branch. He barely has time to see some kind of a small animal before Hank is off after it like a shot.

“Hank wait!” Connor runs after him. The varied forest floor gives him some trouble, and Hank is fast like this, so by the time he catches up, the animal is dead. Hank’s muzzle is red with blood. “You’re not going like this in the morning,” Connor tells him. It doesn’t affect Hank’s mood any. Seeing him enjoying himself is such a rare thing and Connor likes that wolf Hank is so open with his emotions, but it comes at a high cost. Connor goes over, pats Hank’s side. “I shouldn’t be encouraging this sort of behavior.” There isn’t a lot he can do to stop Hank like this, but the hope is that with time, Hank can learn to stop himself.

They roam around for hours. Connor is occupied with scanning the area and thinking about how he is going to get Hank back towards the car. Hank seems to just be going wherever his nose takes him, though he does come back to check on Connor periodically. So Connor forms a hypothesis and starts off to a different direction, away from Hank. He can’t afford to go too far, just far enough to see if he’s right. It takes a while for Hank to notice that Connor is no longer following him. When he does, he comes trotting to him. There is a “good boy” on the tip of Connor’s tongue, but he holds it in, just pets Hank and begins walking back to where they came from. Hank is still exploring the forest, but he does follow Connor, reluctant to let him get far. 

By the time morning comes, they’re close to where they started. It’s good, because after the fur retreats and Hank is back to human form, he collapses. Connor is close enough to catch him before he hits the ground, helping him lay down so his head rests in Connor’s lap. His vitals are steady, but he looks exhausted, eyes shut and body lax. Connor lets him come out of it. 

“My mouth tastes like shit,” is the first thing Hank says. Connor gives him the water bottle so he can drink and wipe off his face. “I killed a thing, right?”

“Yes, I think it was a rabbit,” Connor confirms. “How much do you remember?” 

Hank is sitting up, frowning. “Most of it, I think. But it was like,” he stops to think. “Kinda like I was in the backseat. Like I had some control, but the wolf was the one driving.” 

Connor digs through the backpack for some fresh clothes, and tries not to take peeks at Hank too obviously. “That’s interesting.”

Hank eyes him, accepts the clothes Connor gives him. “You don’t look hurt.”

“Aside from some pushing, you were very careful with me,” Connor says with a smile. “I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t really know that,” Hank argues. “I’m glad it worked out, but it could’ve gone way worse.” He gets up to dress, shaky from the transformation, but he stays standing under his own power. Connor busies himself with organizing the bag and getting Hank his shoes. They’ll need to walk a bit to get to the car, though if it seems like Hank needs to be carried, Connor will do it gladly.

The walk is slow, but they get there. When Hank goes to get in the driver’s side, Connor stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let me drive,” Connor says. 

For a second, Hank looks like he’s about to protest. He frowns, glances into the car, then back at Connor, and gives in, rounding the car to the other side. They both get in and start the drive back. During the journey, when they’re just cruising along a highway, Hank falls asleep, his head leaning on the window. It has been a rough night for him.

When they get back to the house, Connor doesn’t want to wake Hank. He tries to lift him from his seat, but as he does, Hank jerks awake. He looks past Connor, sees that they’re home, and gets out on his own. Connor stays close by as they make their way to the door and then through it. Sumo is there to greet them. 

He expects Hank to go straight to bed. Instead Hank goes to the freezer, digs out a frozen meal. He looks ready to collapse, but he must be starving after running around all night. After making sure that Hank isn’t going to keel over while getting breakfast, Connor takes Sumo out and feeds and waters him. By the time he’s done with that, Hank has dragged himself to bed.

Connor checks on him and discovers him asleep on top of the covers. He goes about removing Hank’s shoes and getting the covers on him as carefully as he can. This time, Hank doesn’t wake, his breathing deep and even. Connor sits by him to keep watch. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!  
> (I know the joke about riding is a low hanging fruit but I'm short and don't want scurvy)

When Hank wakes up from his nap, it’s afternoon. They take Sumo out after lunch and keep the pace slow. There’s a tired air around Hank, something he can’t just sleep off, like the transformation took a piece out of him. He keeps walking, eyes on Sumo who’s trotting along and stopping to smell lampposts. 

“You know, my sense of smell is really good as a wolf,” Hank says, as they wait for Sumo to be done with his latest bout of sniffing and marking.

“I’d imagine so,” Connor replies.

“Good enough to sniff out our buddy, Werewolf Greg,” Hank goes on to say, and it’s not just an idle conversation anymore.

“Would you be doing it because he killed two people or because of a personal vendetta?” Connor asks, his focus going from Sumo to Hank.

“For the two people, obviously,” Hank says, too quickly. Connor watches him carefully until he relents. “Ok, it’d be a little bit for personal reasons, too.” 

“While I think it’s important that the people he killed get justice, I don’t like the idea of you extracting that justice yourself.” He doesn’t want Hank to fight another werewolf. The chance of injury is significant, and seeking out revenge isn’t healthy. 

“I get that, but I don’t want to get back at him, I just want,” Hank pauses to mull it over. “I want some closure.” 

It’s a compelling argument in favor of finding Greg Linden. If it will make Hank’s life easier, Connor can’t tell him to not do it. But, “I’m not going to let you go after him alone.” 

“I thought you might say that.” He stops walking, turning to Connor. His expression is determined in a way that tells Connor that if he wants to be a part of the search, he’s going to have to come up with something convincing. “Think about it, I’m a lot sturdier now and I don’t see him winning in a fight if it comes down to it,” Hank explains. “You, he could probably hurt, and I don’t want to risk that.”

“I understand your concern,” Connor starts. Hank draws himself up like he knows it’s going to be an argument. “And I’m sure you understand mine. I don’t think you’re going into this clear headed, and I’d like to be there to make sure you don’t do anything you’d later regret.” Hank is about to say something, but Connor is not done. “Also, I’m not so sure he can’t take you down, he’s been a werewolf a lot longer than you have. In case you do fight to the death, you might need someone with opposable thumbs to set him on fire.”

“So I can’t kill him but you can?” Hank challenges.

“What I mean is that I don’t want you going after him with the intent to kill him or harm him, but if it comes to either him killing you or us killing him, I’d rather it be the later.” He takes no pleasure in killing, but it is one of his functions, and he’s sure he can do it with less psychological trauma than Hank can.

Hank crosses his arms. “I still don’t like the idea of you coming with me.”

“I don’t like the idea of you going alone,” Connor counters, and they try to stare each other down until Sumo whines at them for not moving. They turn to look at him at the same time. It breaks some of the tension, though they haven’t reached an agreement yet.

“I know boy, let’s go, yeah?” Hank coos. They continue their walk.

“I can monitor the reported sightings of Mr Linden a lot more efficiently than you can, but I won’t tell you where the latest one is unless you take me along.” It’s not the most elegant win, but Connor will take it if it means he can keep Hank safe. 

Hank gives him a glare. “You’re a stubborn asshole.”

Connor smiles. “Enough to rival you, I think.”

* * *

The report comes in at six pm two days later. They had left work an hour ago and had just enough time to get comfortable. It appears that Mr Linden hasn’t gone far and has been spotted running around naked a three hour drive away. 

“Poor bastard,” Hank says when Connor tells him the news. “Let’s go.” 

They leave right away. The car is packed up with the things they need in case they’d have to leave in a hurry. Connor took the hair left by Mr Linden’s werewolf body once they decided to do this. With any luck, they can finish this tonight and be back by morning.   

It’s silent for the first hour. Connor still isn’t convinced that Hank doing this is a good idea, and Hank doesn’t like that he has to bring Connor along, but they both know that if one of them is going, they both have to go. Despite the tension, there are a couple things they need to address before getting to the their destination. Connor stops stewing first.

“What are you going to do about transforming once we get there?” he asks, keeps his voice  neutral to signal that he’s not looking to argue or to undermine Hank’s plan.

“Stress does it, right?” Hank says. “I’m plenty keyed up by this whole thing,” he gestures with his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “I can sort of feel it, under the surface. It shouldn’t take that big of a push. Let’s just hope that nothing happens before we get there, yeah?” He shoots Connor one of his self-deprecating smiles.

“I’m sure you can manage.”

“What about you? I think I remember you having trouble keeping up with me when I ran after that rabbit,” Hank says. His tone is more challenging, like maybe he thinks that there’s a change that Connor will stay in the car while he goes out to take care of business. There is no such change, and Hank should know better. Connor will leach himself onto him if he has to.

“I could ride you,” Connor suggests. It’s innocent enough, but he understands the possible implications a millisecond before he hears Hank mutter,

“God, I wish you’d ride me.”

A human would have missed it, Hank’s voice mixing in with the hum of the car, but Connor isn’t human. “Maybe after we’re done here,” he says. The proposition is appealing, both from a more detached ‘he’s never tried it so he’s curious’ standpoint, and from a far less detached viewpoint of he wants to be as close to Hank as possible.

“Uuh,” Hank says, staring at the road. “I mean, if you want to and are, um, capable, then I’m all for it.”

“I am fully equipped,” Connor assures, and adds, “And willing.” It’s probably the more important thing, to Hank, and in general.

“Great.” Hank’s voice is a bit more high pitched than usual and he continues to keep a very careful watch of what’s ahead. 

“We can discuss it in more detail once you’re on a more even footing.” His wants aside, Hank’s mental health is important, and if Connor can help Hank get to a point where he can deal with the changes in a more constructive manner, he will.  

“Let’s save it for when I can’t drive us off the road, yeah,” Hank agrees.

* * *

They get to their destination. There’s a hiking trail that starts near a parking lot where Mr Linden was seen. They park the car and head for the trail. It’s dark and hikers have gone home, which means that the call couldn’t have happened at a much better time. 

Connor has all if their things, like clothes for Hank, water, first aid, and a lighter and matches along with some hairspray. It’s a crude setup for self-defense and he hopes he doesn’t need to use it. 

“Okay,” Hank says to himself once they’re covered by some trees. 

“How are you feeling?” Connor asks. Hank needs to be under stress or angry or threatened for this to work, but Connor doesn’t really want him to feel that way. He takes Hank’s shoes and his top layer of clothing and puts them in the backpack.

“Not great,” Hank admits. “You should probably back off a bit. Just having you here is making me feel better.” 

He does as told. “Alright.” Now is not the time, but knowing that just by being around, he makes Hank feel more secure and happy, is something he’ll cherish. “If you can’t do this, you’ll never get your closure,” he says instead of anything encouraging like he wants to. 

Hank turns to him. “Are you seriously trying to stress me out right now?” 

“No,” Connor lies. “Like I told you, I don’t want you to do this, and I’d much rather be at home, but instead you dragged me here.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere, you dick. I told you not to come and you insisted,” Hank’s raising his voice to be heard, but also as a sign that he’s agitated. 

Connor shrugs. “I guess that’s true, but it’s still a fact that if you didn’t come here, I wouldn’t be here, either. And now we’re just standing around in a bush next to a parking lot, in werewolf territory, armed only with hairspray and matches,” he pushes. “Our friend Greg is probably hanging out in wolf form somewhere, and while you’re a lot hardier these days, you’ve seen what he can do to an android.” Sue was a domestic model and thus more breakable than Connor, but Hank doesn’t need to know that. He’s growling, and it doesn’t take long for him to burst out of his remaining clothes, enormous and pissed off.

Connor takes a few steps back. It doesn’t appear that Hank’s anger is directed at him so much as it’s at the environment. He stalks around for a good while before returning to Connor, satisfied that there’s no immediate threat. 

“Hey,” Connor greets him, pulling out the evidence from his pocket. “I’m sorry about that, I thought you might need a push.” Even Hank’s wolf-face looks unimpressed, but he takes a sniff of the hair. Soon, he has his nose in the air, searching. He trots around the lot, stopping at some bushes, until he picks up a trace. At first, Connor has no trouble keeping up as Hank needs to stop to find the trail again. They leave the beaten path and the terrain gets more challenging, and so does running after Hank. It’s like Hank notices and slows down to wait, but there’s a chance that they won’t catch up to Mr Linden if they keep stalling, and Connor refuses to be the reason they came out here for nothing. So when Hank stops, he climbs up and clings to him like a huge flee. Wolf Hank’s body language says that he’d rather not have Connor on him, but he continues to search for the scent trail. 

He finds it. It’s hard to stay on while Hank is running, even with all the fur for Connor to hold on to. He manages until Hank stops abruptly and shakes him off. Connor lands on the forest floor with a thud. He’s alright if a little shocked by the sudden fall. Hank is growling. 

There’s a noise from the bushes. The leaves move and a wolf comes out. He’s still as big as Connor remembers, but he’s missing patches of fur and he looks like he’s lost weight. As he approaches, he bares his throat. The gesture makes Hank stand down a little, though his head is still low and his ears back. 

It doesn’t look like Werewolf Greg wants to fight. Hesitant to get between the two wolves, Connor moves next to Hank, puts a hand on his neck. Hank leans into it, but doesn’t take his eyes off Mr Linden.

“If you can understand me, we’re not here for a fight,” Connor says, calm, hoping to reassure. “We just want to talk.” Hank standing next to him, flashing his teeth, doesn’t back up the claim, and they’re at a standstill. He has no idea how to defuse the situation. 

Werewolf Greg sways on his feet. He comes near to collapsing on the ground before he catches himself. Slowly, the fur starts to retreat and he grows smaller. When the transformation is complete, Mr Linden sits on the ground, looking like he hasn’t been eating well, covered in scratches. 

He looks up at them. “If you’re here to kill me, just do it.”

“We’re not here to kill you,” Connor says and even Hank sits down, whines a little. There’s a blanket in the backpack, and Connor digs it out to offer the man. He doesn’t take it right away, eyeing Connor like it might be a trap, but it’s too cold a night to be naked in the woods, so he accepts and wraps it around himself. 

“We genuinely do just want to talk,” Connor speaks again. “And maybe convince you to turn yourself in.”

“I can’t go to prison, you saw what happened to the people who were around when I lost control,” Mr Linden says. “You don’t want me in a cage with anyone.” 

“Then what would you suggest?” Connor asks. It’s a good point; how do you imprison a werewolf? Does there need to be the kind of shackles on a wall setup Mr Linden has at his house?

“You need to either kill me or let me go,” Mr Linden says. “I deserve to die, but if you leave me be, I won’t go anywhere near humans again, I swear.” 

Hank becomes restless by Connor’s side. He whines and shuffles his feet before going off somewhere. Connor glances between Mr Linden and Hank.

“Excuse me,” he says and goes after Hank. He hasn’t gone far, just far enough that there’s some distance and trees between him and Mr Linden. He comes to Connor and presses his enormous head on Connor’s. Connor scratches at his big ears the best he can reach and whispers comfort. 

Soon, his beast of a companion starts to shrink back to his normal, but still impressive, size. Connor keeps leaning his head on Hank’s. He’s very close and very naked, and suddenly Connor is hyper aware of both that and himself. When he looks up at Hank’s face, Hank is smiling at him and he mirrors it without realizing.

“Hey,” Connor says.

“Hey,” replies Hank and places his hands on Connor’s hips. “I still think that you being here is a bad idea but I’m also glad you’re here.”  

“I’m sorry about what I said, earlier,” Connor says. “I basically forced you to take me with you, so if anything happens to me out here, it’s completely on me.”

“It’s fine. I know what you were doing and it worked, so.” Hank shrugs.

“It still wasn’t very nice of me.” 

“No, yeah, you were an asshole, but I’m not gonna hold it against you.”

They stand like that for a moment longer before getting back on track. Connor gives Hank his clothes and shoes, and Hank puts them on. He takes out a flashlight and gives that to Hank, too. They walk back to find Mr Linden where they’d left him. He looks up at them and stops and stares at Hank. 

“Okay, so, I’m pretty pissed off that you killed two people and turned me into a werewolf, but I don’t actually think that you deserve to die,” Hank says, crouching down closer to Mr Linden’s level. Connor remains standing.

“Two people,” Mr Linden repeats and looks down, frowning.

“Sue has been repaired, though she suffered some memory loss,” Connor informs him. 

“That’s-that’s good, that I didn’t,” he pauses, glances at Connor. “Uh, do as much permanent damage as I thought I had?”

It’s an acceptable way to word things and Connor nods.

“Forgive me, but it’s still a cold comfort, considering all the other things I did,” Mr Linden continues. “I like Sue, she was always very nice to me, but two people are dead and one is a werewolf, and I’m so tired of running and of existing like this, and I just want to stop.”

“Same,” Hank says.

Connor gives him a sharp look, “Hank.”

Hank looks back. “What?” 

Mr Linden watches the exchange, his eyes just as exhausted as he claims he is. “You’re lucky you have someone who knows and is willing to help.”

“I know,” Hank responds, more somber and serious again. “I couldn’t do this without him.”

Connor puts his hand on Hank’s shoulder. He wants to do more, but the chances of Hank being alright with that are low. “You should let us get you help,” Connor says, enough of his attention still on Mr Linden.

“I’m beyond help.” 

“Bullshit,” Hank spits. “You might think that what you want is a bullet to the head, or I guess a werewolf equivalent, but it’s not a real solution.”

Mr Linden narrows his eyes. “What would you know about that?”

“Everything there is to fucking know.”

They enter what looks like a staring contest, sizing each other up. Connor stays out of it, but he does give Hank’s shoulder a squeeze. There is a possibility that Hank has gotten too close to this to be rational, related to their culprit too much. Hank is good at his job, but if Connor were to give him notes, he’d say that Hank lets his personal feelings guide him too often. It was excellent for Connor’s development into a deviant, and he likes that Hank is compassionate, but in situations like this, it makes him nervous for Hank. 

“So, I guess if you’re not going to kill me and you’re not here to arrest me,” Mr Linden takes his eyes off Hank’s to look at Connor, too. That is when something jumps through the brush not far from them. It looks big enough to be a deer, or a small moose, and Hank’s attention goes to it with the suddenness of a predator. Connor takes proper hold of him, gets himself right under his nose. Mr Linden bolts for the darkness of the night, leaving the blanket behind. Connor hears his footsteps change, from the gait of a man to that of a four-legged creature as he holds Hank. 

Hank wraps his arms around him and takes deep breaths. The tension in Hank’s body drains bit by bit, until it’s safe for Connor to let go. He doesn’t right away and neither does Hank. The flashlight lies near them, the light pointing towards the trees. 

“I think I’m fine now,” Hank speaks against Connor’s shoulder.

“Do you want to go back to the car?”

“We should, right?” They do need to get back, but instead of getting up and letting go, they don’t. “That whole thing,” Hank says. “Kinda makes it seem like I’m handling this pretty well.”

“You are,” Connor confirms. “And you tried your best to offer him support, it’s not your fault he didn’t accept it.”

“It’s weird, but I felt connected to him,” Hank admits. “Maybe it’s a werewolf thing, I don’t know.”           

“There’s a lot about your condition we don’t know, but I’ll help you find out.”

Hank huffs in amusement and kisses his cheek. “You’re so fuckin’ precious.”

“You’re dear to me as well,” Connor states. It causes Hank to bury his face back on Connor’s shoulder before he can compose himself and extract enough to reach for the flashlight to look around. 

“Yup, we definitely need to leave,” he says, pulling Connor with him when he gets up. “It’s creepy out here.” The light bounces off the nearest trees and the wind rustles the leaves.

Connor lets himself smile a little. “Don’t worry Hank, I’ll keep you safe.”

In response, Hank grins and messes Connor’s hair before pulling him against his side. “That’s my line.”

They walk to the car and drive home. 


End file.
